


Don't Let the Sun Go Down

by brynwulf, poisontaster



Series: Sundownverse [1]
Category: Actor RPF, CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Dubious Consent, First Time, Forced Prostitution, Gay Awakening, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plague Apocalypse, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-17
Updated: 2007-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6045823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynwulf/pseuds/brynwulf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A plague has swept North America, killing people by the millions and creating chaos and lawlessness.  Jared and Jensen are just actors; they're not ready to deal with this.  But they're determined to make it home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Brynwulf and I wrote this for the fun of it. It is very much _fanfic_ , with nothing resembling research or accuracy. FYI.

I.

"We're very excited to have you here," Avery—Jensen thinks the guy's name is Avery—says, all but bouncing on his wing-tipped toes. "In spite of, well, the _circumstances_."

That's how he says it, with that strange fussy emphasis like someone else might say _cancer_ and Jensen could almost laugh. He looks over at Jared, Rosey and Tom to see if they're buying what this guy's selling, but Tom's got on his million-yard stare, Rosey's ripping the hole in jeans wider with his fingernails and Jared's sitting there with the polite, attentive _interested_ look he always has. The one that always makes you feel whatever you have to say is the best, most fascinating crap he's ever heard.

Jensen rubs his eyes tiredly with his fingers and resettles his baseball cap on his head, before slouching a little lower on the uncomfortable motel-quality couch. It's too fucking early for this shit. _Don't let the sun set on you in Canada, Yankee,_ he thinks with irritated amusement and almost barks a laugh again.

The 'circumstances', as Avery put it, were relatively simple; years of smilingly polite hostility between the U.S. and Canada had flared up around this whole bird flu thing and the not-bird-flu thing and now Jensen, Jared, Mike and Tom—as well as a whole host of other perfectly nice people who just so happen to be American—are out of a job and getting the boot.

On the one hand, Jensen reckons he'll be glad to see his family, check in on them the way he hasn't been able to with _Supernatural_ 's crushing shooting schedule. So far none of them have come down sick and his mama didn't seem particularly worried the last time he talked to her but, knowing his mama, that doesn't mean much of anything. She could be bleeding out her eyeballs and all she'd probably tell him is, "Oh, honey, I just got a bit of a headache."

"…not letting us drive ourselves…but a train? Isn't that a little…archaic?"

"Nazi-ish, was the word I was going to use," Rosenbaum chimes in and Jensen realizes he's lost the whole thread of the conversation.

Avery holds up his hands placatingly, a nervous, reed-thin man in a slightly too short suit. "Now, let's not throw words like that around too freely, gentlemen," he says, Adam's apple bobbing. "These are trying times."

"Oh, come on, Rosey," Jensen lets his drawl thicken, knowing how Mike hates it when he 'puts on the Tex-ass'. "You really want to get on a plane, have the pilot come down sick and the whole thing fall out of the sky like a stone? No thanks."

"Well, I'm sure we weren't thinking anything that extreme." Avery lets out a nervous chuckle and doesn't look at all reassured to have Jensen on his side. "We haven't had a single documented case of Avian flu here at the facility…"

Tom stirs for the first time. "I heard…"

Jensen's got to admire the speed with which Avery cuts in, at odds with his nervous-excited demeanor. "You heard wrong. Those were just panic attacks caused by people with these new, virulent allergies being mistaken for flu carriers."

 _Virulent_ , Jensen thinks and wonders who's been writing Avery's scripts. Eric should have hired him.

"We've all seen it on the news." Avery shakes his head. "People are scared. People are going to be looking to you."

"To us?" Mike sounds surprised.

Jensen tunes out again and looks past Avery out the tall observation windows that show the main floor of the depot a little below them. As celebrities, they'd gotten the VIP treatment: personal handling by Avery, the deportation station manager, the assurance of a private car on the train back to the U.S. side, and this little pep talk.

There are more people shuffling through the lines than Jensen expects; more people than he's seen together and in one place for a few weeks now. Quarantines on certain parts of Vancouver and plain old yellow fear of the bird flu has kept people indoors, to themselves, which is just fine with Jensen. Fewer people out and about the less chance that he or any of his friends are going to catch this thing.

Jensen doesn't usually trade a lot on what little fame he has; he's at that stage where goodwill is too important. But he'll gladly trade every drop of it, every little bit of juice he's got to keep them out of those uneven, shuffling lines, every single person in them a potential time bomb waiting to go off.

He's not going to get sick. None of them are going to get sick.

Jensen looks over at Jared, who's been pretty quiet through this whole thing. It's not like Jay, who normally has a million and one questions about everything. Jensen wonders if Jared feels it too, this humming sense of tension just under the skin, or whether that's just Jensen's twitchiness.

Jared looks just fine, sipping on the can of Coke Avery provided and nodding at all the right places. As if he senses Jensen's eyes touch him, Jared's gaze cuts across that of his costar and Jared gives Jensen a small, dimpled smile.

Jensen's mouth twists in his own crooked grin: _Dude, can you believe this?_

Jared rolls his eyes a little and his shoulder twitches in an abbreviated shrug. _Crazy_.

And here's the other part of it, the part that twists in Jensen's guts just a bit. Jared is his friend. He might even say his best friend if that didn't sound hopelessly like twelve year old girls. But he knows how this goes. You work with a guy, see him every day, keep the same hours, hang out all the time at bars and clubs and each other's houses…and then one of you leaves, or the show ends.

And at first it's all "Oh, yeah, man, we'll _totally_ hang out back in L.A., no worries," but you're both busy trying to scrape up a new gig and you've got all these _old_ friends to catch up with. And then one of you is on location in Turkey or some shit and the other's right back in Vancouver or wherever and yeah, you're still friends…except in the same way that everybody's friends in Hollywood.

And maybe that's what was always going to happen with him and Jared. Maybe it was inevitable. And with the world falling apart around them, it seems stupid and selfish to worry about what's going to happen with their friendship. But since the U.S. and Canada mutually shut their borders, Mike, Tom and Jared are pretty much all he's got. He hasn't even been able to call home since…

"How are things on the U.S. side?" he asks suddenly, startling himself. He startles everyone else too, because they all stop talking—even Avery—and they all look at him.

Avery is the first to recover though, pushing his glasses nervously up his high, thin nose. "Well, obviously, we don't know much ourselves." Avery adjusts his tie, smoothes his plain cream dress shirt. "There's been no real communication; the phone lines are for emergency use only on both sides…"

"But the people." Jared shifts forward in a soft protest of wood and upholstery. "Canadians are getting deported back all the time, just like us. Surely they have to have said something. About how it is, what it's like."

"I'm sure I wouldn't know," Avery says and though it could have come out prissy, it comes out kind instead. "I haven't dealt with any of the returnees, myself. They have to go through quarantine, just as you probably will on your side. My sister, Anissa…" He breaks off, looks embarrassed. "I've been waiting for her to come home."

Jensen's gaze crosses Jared's again. Quarantine. Another delay before they can find out what's happened to their families, if anything.

"I'm sure she'll be home soon enough," Jared says, tearing his eyes slowly from Jensen's before he looks back at Avery. "They're just being careful."

Avery nods.

"Hey, what—" Mike begins and Jensen never really gets to hear the end of the question as the depot floor suddenly erupts in noise and confusion, a hundred or so people all suddenly riled up and with no idea where to go.

Jensen pushes up out of his seat, balanced on his one hand as he scans the stampede below. _There_ , where the Canadian agents are logging people through; one of the agents is half-doubled over, her hands over her face completely failing to hide or contain the hemorrhage of gore from underneath her fingers. It stains her shirt and cheap uniform vest all the way to her belly, speckles the thighs of her khakis. Space opens around her like Moses parting the Red Sea as everyone scrambles away from her.

 _"Shit!_ Avery hisses unexpectedly and, without bothering to excuse himself, pivots and tears open the door leading to the floor. The office is decently soundproofed; with it open, Jensen can hear the screams more clearly, thinks he can hear the sick girl—Avian flu or allergies?—saying, "…help me. Please, help me…"

Suddenly both cold and sweaty, not to mention queasy, Jensen darts up and closes the door behind Avery. "I think we should get out of here," he says.

"And go where?" Mike scoffs, crossing his legs and lounging more deeply in the cushions. "Don’t worry, Jenny, I'm sure Avery will take care of it."

Jensen ignores the hated nickname, seeing the rim of white around Mike's irises and the faint glister of sweat on his upper lip. Mike's as spooked as Jensen; he's just taking it on a different way. Jensen looks out the observation windows again. He can't even really see Avery in the press of people.

"We should get out of here," he says again, dead certain.

Jared and Tom get up and come to stand at the window with him. After a moment and with some grumbling, Mike does too, all of them quiet and shuffling uncomfortably for space. None of them are small guys.

"Jesus," Tom whispers.

No one seems to know where to go or what to do; Jensen sees one woman literally running in circles, her mouth open in a red screaming **O** that might have been funny in other circumstances. He sees a dude in a Broncos jersey trying to punch his way out indiscriminately, hitting a young mother, a middle aged businessman and a much older guy that looks a little like Kim before Jensen looks away.

"Jared," he says, tipping his head toward the other door in the narrow room. A small placard says _Authorized Personnel Only_. "You can pick that lock, right?"

Tom's smile is nervous, hesitant. "C'mon, Jen…you guys are taking your show too seriously."

Jensen ignores him. "Jared?"

He knows Jared can do it. Jared took great glee in picking every lock in Jensen's apartment and his own _and_ their respective trailers. And then, of course, the time Jared picked the locks on Kim's car so they could fill the whole thing with Styrofoam peanuts. Jared can do this, Jensen just has to convince him it's necessary.

"Do you think it's the flu?" Mike asks, still looking out the windows. They've been out of work for six weeks and Mike's hair is growing out, prickly-new. He's got one hand flat against the glass. "Should we…" He looks at them, gray-faced and wide-pupilled. "Are there masks? Do we need masks?"

"What we need," Jensen says, not looking away from Jared, "is to get the fuck out of here. I'm serious, now."

"Jesus," Tom says again. He's standing next to Mike, his hand steadying on his costar's shoulder. "Those are soldiers."

"Yeah, okay," Jared says finally and goes over to Avery's desk and starts rooting around. Jensen goes to help.

They come up with a letter opener that's probably too thick and a handful of jumbo paperclips. Jared goes to the inner door. Jensen doesn't follow; Jared will do better without him hovering over his shoulder.

The first gunshot takes them all by surprise. Nobody has any chance to react before there's a second. And a third.

"Shit." Tom sounds numb. He tugs Mike away from the window, back toward where Jared is working. Mike backs up without turning, looking fascinated and revolted both. "They're just." Tom looks at Jensen and Jensen realizes he's flattened himself against the inside wall like he can crawl inside of it. For a moment, crazily, he thinks of a Sesame Street book he had when he was a little kid, _The Monster at the End of the Book_ , and he wants to laugh. "They're just shooting people at random."

"C'mon," Jared mutters to himself, tongue peeping out from between his teeth. " _C'mon._ "

Jensen feels like they're all holding their breaths, watching Jared work and listening to people die. The gunfire is steadier now, short chattering bursts of automatic fire. So is the screaming.

When Jared pops the lock, Jensen feels like he's on a springboard, grabbing Mike with one hand and Tom with the other, pushing them at that slender gap. They're both with the program now, though, full-on hustle, as they crowd into the depot's administrative offices.

The chaos isn't any better back here. Looking around frantically for another exit, he sees only a few people who look as panicked as Jensen feels.

"Jen!" Jared tugs on Jensen's jacket sleeve, nodding towards a red EXIT sign. Tom and Mike are nowhere to be seen.

"Where…?"

"They went ahead of us, Jen. C'mon!" Jared jerks again and Jensen follows him into a cement stairwell that stinks of furtive cigarettes. Jensen's nose twitches. Yeah, a cigarette would be a damn fine thing right now.

_…if I wasn't worried about getting **shot**!_

Jared, with his long legs, hits the bottom of the stairwell before Jensen; his hands are on the push bar of the exit door when Jensen stops him. "What, man? We gotta get out of here."

"What if they're on the other side?" Jensen asks. "I'm not walking out that door just to get shot, man."

Jared nods and starts to push the bar more carefully. Jensen tightens his hands over Jared's again and Jared makes an impatient noise, his jaw squaring and his mouth pressing flat. "Jen. _One_ of us is going to have to go first, you know."

 _Panicking. You're panicking, Jen,_ he thinks, taking a deep breath and making his hands unlock from his costar's. He nods and takes a step back. "Yeah. Sorry."

Jared opens the door quietly, carefully, peeking through the gap. Nothing happens. On the breeze flowing through the gap, Jensen thinks he smells something burning. "No soldiers," Jared reports back. "Nobody's looking. Come on."

The street outside looks like something from a zombie movie. The storefront across the street is on fire, clouds of black smoke roiling up into the sky. There aren't any people close to the door, but those Jensen sees are running, scared and jerky. He can still hear people screaming. He doesn't know if he's imagining it.

It's been a long little while since Jensen prayed, but he feels the words pressing up against his lips, welling into his triphammering heart. _Our Father, who art in Heaven…_

"Where did Tommy and Mike go?" Jared rakes his hand through his hair, taking a couple impatient, scared steps right and then left. He looks at Jensen. "Shit, Jen…where are _we_ going to go?"

Jensen doesn't have any idea. This was supposed to be their ticket home, back to the good old US of A. For a moment, he thinks about his luggage, back inside the depot, pretty much everything he owns in the world. Gone now. It's all gone.

Jensen looks around. "Come on." It's his turn to grab Jared by the sleeve and pull him, away from the depot and its squad of murdering soldiers. "Wherever it is, we need to get off the street."

II.

_This is how things start. Very small._

Say, for example, global warming causes a shelf of ice thousands of years old to crack and fall off into the sea. There's obvious concern about flooding and whether the newly calved icebergs will drift into commercial shipping lanes, but hardly anyone thinks about what kind of germs—what kind of allergens—might have been released.

One monograph in an obscure scientific journal. One article buried in the back of the Health section of the Sunday paper.

And that's it.

At first.

Until people start dying.

III.

Jared’s philosophy on life is that nothing is ever so bad you can’t face it. Usually with a joke. Which generally leads people to think of him as a ginormous goofball. But they’d be wrong. Well. Mostly. Joking is about the farthest thing from his mind right now. How can he possibly put a humorous spin on the disastrous events of the morning?

Jensen’s tugging on his jacket sleeve, but Jared’s feet remain firmly planted right outside the depot. He feels frozen to the spot and can’t remember why they’re supposed to be moving.

“What about Tom and Mike?” But already his voice lacks conviction. They'd been shooting people. Innocent, healthy people. People like him, that just wanted to go home. It could have been him. It could have been _them_.

Jared pulls his arm from Jen’s grasp, but he doesn’t really have a plan. Hasn’t thought beyond getting out of the depot. Out of firing range. And when he looks at Jensen, he sees his own panic reflected back.

 _We can’t both lose it at the same time_ , he thinks and takes a deep breath.

Okay, they can do this.

“Come on, Jay. It’s not safe out here like this.” Jensen nudges him. Jared follows Jensen’s gaze to a gang of punks, strolling down the middle of the street in their direction. They don't look that interested in him and Jensen, but that could change fast. Jared’s fists automatically close, but he knows his costar is right.

Within seconds he’s following Jensen, who's moving south, away from the looters.

“Where we headed?” Jared jogs up next to Jen after about a half hour of silent loping. They’ve taken up point and rear positions without even discussing it, a little more of Sam and Dean that's crept into them. Damn, he's going to miss that show.

Jensen cuts him a look that Jared can’t interpret and that sort of scares him more than the flu.

They can hear the deep mechanized rumble of military vehicles from a few streets over. When it gets closer, Jared swerves into an alley, leaning into Jensen at the turn, pushing him ahead. It’s clean. So much cleaner than any alley Jared’s ever seen in the States. The Canadians are so proud of their housekeeping. Now they’re both leaning back against the graffiti-less brick wall and people are dying and Jared’s thinking about how tidy this alley is.

He glances at Jensen. “Jen.”

Jensen opens his eyes, inhales deeply and rolls his head around to look at Jared. “We can’t go home.” His voice is a little hoarse from jogging along in the crisp air of a Vancouver fall.

Jared nods and coughs as his throat starts to tickle from the cold. He lets out one last hack and spits on the clean concrete at his feet “Yeah, I know.” Neither mentions Tom or Mike this time.

Two army-green Hummers roll by the end of the alley. Jared flattens himself against the wall reaches his arm out across Jensen’s chest. It's not until Jen’s _Dude, what the fuck?_ look that he realizes and pulls it back, tucking the offending limb tight to his side.

The Humvees pass. The street’s quiet again, back to the eerie silence of impending doom. They actually have a few minutes to stop and think. It’s rather jarring to realize they actually need a _plan_.

Jensen slides down to sit cross-legged on the ground and pulls Jared down with him. “Jay, we gotta figure out what to do next. We need a plan of action, man.” That they’re still on the same wavelength – still think eerily alike about the things that matter – reassures Jared.

“I know! Did you see Red Dawn?” Jared frowns. “What?”

He can’t read Jensen’s look and a few seconds later it dawns on him how that must have sounded. “Well, it’s sort of like that isn’t it?” Jared bows his head, picks up a pebble from the ground and tosses it down the alley. “I mean, Jen,” he hates hearing the fear in his voice, “it’s like it’s you and me—us—against them now.”

He’s almost wary when he feels Jensen’s hand on his shoulder, moving up to his neck trying to force him to look up.

“Hey.” Jensen’s voice is soft and a little sad.

Jared really doesn’t want to see that look on Jensen’s face again and resists. "I didn't mean it like that," he says, because now he feels like he needs to explain. "I just…"

“Naw, I get it." Jensen squeezes a little. "Jay, it’s okay. We’re going to get home and it’s going to be okay.” Jared can’t help but lean into Jensen’s warm hand and thanks God for having his best friend with him when the world went to shit all those weeks ago.

“Come on, I know where we can go.” Jensen levers himself up and pulls Jared with him.

They’re cautiously heading back out to the street when Jensen sort of bumps Jared, making them both sway for balance. “Let’s go Swayze some shit.”

Jared can’t help but laugh at Jensen’s weird-ass sense of humor and swings his arm around his friend, pulling him close. “We can do this, right, dude?” he asks.

“Damn straight.”

Jensen takes up point again while Jared falls back a few paces. He knows he’ll follow Jensen till the end now – then wishes that didn’t seem like such a possibility all of a sudden.

IV.

Walking onto the completely empty lot is eerier than the city streets. Jared can’t recall ever having been here when there wasn’t at least a security guard at the gate. There was some attempt to lock and board everything up, but Jared can tell it was hastily done. After the first wave of allergies, the Avian flu hit so fast.

There’s paper blowing across the concrete. One of the shed doors has come unlatched and bangs too loudly. It seems wrong to disturb the stillness.

Jared feels like he’s on the _House of Wax_ set and the monster is about to jump out at them, which is totally insane, of course, but makes him very cautious when he follows Jensen inside the building. A little paranoia is probably not a bad thing.

“Tell me again why we didn’t go back to our apartments?” Jared realizes he’s whispering and clears his throat – continues in a normal voice. “We could at least get…” What was there really left to get? They’d both packed everything they really cared about, knowing they’d be home soon – really home, with their families.

Jared bites his lip.

Jensen isn’t really paying attention anyway. Jared catches up with him as he unlocks a door at the end of the hallway. What the hell made Jensen keep his keys to the set?

“The Infirmary?” Jared reads the hand-lettered sign taped to the wall next to the door.

Jensen just smiles knowingly. “I know for a fact they didn’t clean the building out before closing down last week. There’s gotta be more shit in here than either one of us has at home. Grab something. Shit, grab everything.”

Jared glances quickly around the large room that served as a M.A.S.H. unit during shooting. It wasn’t really close to being a hospital, but the doctor they’d kept staffed could treat minor injuries, including suturing and broken bones. Someone, cast or crew, always seemed to be doing something stupid, resulting in the need to visit the infirmary.

He finds garbage bags under the sink and snaps one open. Jensen is already pulling down bottles and reading labels and Jared doesn’t say anything about the dangling overhead cabinet doors, barely hanging on one hinge now. Instead, he gets busy checking the drawers, which miraculously aren’t locked.

In less than fifteen minutes, they’re loaded with bandages, tape, a variety of ointments and several types of antibiotics, cold meds and pain relievers. Jared throws in some scissors and a set of ugly looking instruments at the last minute.

“Next stop, wardrobe.”

Jared’s starting to get into the swing of things and jogs ahead of Jensen to the room they’d both started their morning in for the last two years. “I’ll grab Sam and Dean’s bags,” he calls over his shoulder as he veers off to props.

When he meets up with Jensen a few minutes later, his co-star has jeans, jackets and a couple of tee-shirts for each of them pulled out of the closet. They don’t normally dress like Sam and Dean, who have the fashion sense of Jared’s cousins down in Brownsville, but at least the clothes fit and will do till they can get home.

Jared isn’t allowing any thoughts otherwise. They’ll be home soon and he and Jensen will stay close. Shit, their families only live four hours from each other, which is nothing. And when all this flu and allergy crap is cleared up, they’ll go back to LA and maybe even get a show again.

They make a good team.

“That it?” Jared hefts the duffle onto his right shoulder and holds the door open for Jensen. But instead of following him out, Jen is headed through the door that leads outside to the parking lot. “What the fuck…” Jared mutters before following him out.

Jensen stops at the shed and pulls a string of keys off the pegboard nailed to the wall and Jared frowns more in confusion.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Jen. We’re not taking one of the Impalas are we?”

“No, dumbass.” Jensen gives him a sly grin. Jared watches him slip the key in the trunk of the one that’s outfitted with Dean’s arsenal and pop the lid.

Most of the props are plastic or rubber and strictly meant for show, but the last show they’d shot called for Sam to pull a silver knife out of one of the slots in the lid of the box and that’s what Jensen’s going for.

Jared steps up and rattles around through the rest of the gear, but finds nothing else of use. What he wouldn’t do for his 22/410 that hung on the wall at his grandpa’s house in Texas.

That thought raises another and he turns to Jensen. “You ever camped out?” Jared had been camping out under the stars since he was old enough to spend summers at his grandparents' ranch, but he was willing to bet that same ranch that Jensen’s upbringing hadn’t been quite so – rural.

There’s the slightest hesitation before Jensen zips his duffle closed and answers, “Of course, I have. What? I’m from Texas aren’t I?” He isn’t quite fast enough to miss the fist to his arm that Jared throws.

“You are such a big fat liar!” Jared looks around the lot, still as quiet as a tomb (and isn’t that a lovely thought?), and gets serious again.

“So.” He scuffs his boot toe against the Impala’s tire and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “What now?”

Jensen pulls a map out of his back pocket – must have picked it up inside – and unfolds it on the car’s hood. “Let’s figure out the best way to get the hell out of this Godforsaken place. We're going home.”

While they’re looking over the routes, heads tucked together, Jared begins to wheeze, then coughs until Jensen’s whacking him on the back and offering a bottle of water he’s pulled out of his bag.

With half the bottle downed in one pull, Jared smiles weakly and tries to catch his breath. “I think a bug flew down my throat.” He clears his throat again and finishes off the bottle before turning his attention back to the map.

“You’re just out of shape,” Jensen shoots back, but Jared feels Jensen’s eyes on him and refuses to look up, concentrating instead on searching out the road south that’ll have the least amount of traffic, and thus, checkpoints.

After a minute, Jensen’s finger traces their route before his hand flattens across the wrinkled paper. Jared takes a deep breath and lays his own hand, long fingers practically covering the whole map, across Jensen’s. Two thousand miles. Two thousand miles between them and L.A. Another fifteen hundred to Dallas or San Antone.

“Let’s book. I’ve got a taste for Texas BBQ.” Jared keeps his voice light, determined not to think about birds with flu or freaky allergy-inducing glaciers.

Jensen seems willing to go along and tosses Jared the keys to one of the pickups used by the crew.

“This’ll get us out of Vancouver, at least.” They both know there’ll be no gassing up once they leave the inner city, but Jared’s content to take it one step at a time for now. Jared's stomach clenches up right about the same time he turns the engine and shifts into gear.

He realizes they have no frigging clue what’s waiting for them outside the city limits. He clings to the hope born of his inherent optimism. Jared can do most anything he puts his mind to. The odds are only increased with Jen, his best friend, by his side. He has to believe that. 


	2. Chapter 2

I.

They don't get very far with the truck.

The streets are an obstacle course of abandoned vehicles and other, stranger things (a couch, a rowboat on a hitch, a ceramic life-sized cow, it's side gouged open and gaping), some of which had been set on fire. Jared drives slow, careful and white-knuckled and Jensen tries not to passenger seat drive, squinting through the dusty windshield until his head throbs and pulses dully right behind his eyes. Jared keeps squirting wiper fluid, but it doesn't help much, smearing greasily.

In a few neighborhoods, people tried to erect makeshift barricades of furniture, cement blocks, plywood and whatever else had come to hand. The fat tracks of a tank or more Humvees indicate that some of them have clearly been driven over or through. They don't see many bodies, just wreckage. Jensen doesn't know if that's good or bad. 

"I just didn't know it was like this," Jared says suddenly and Jensen jumps like he's just been goosed, foot mashing down on an imaginary brake pedal. He looks over at his costar, but Jared's still focused on the street—or sidewalk, depending on how badly the road's blocked—his eyebrows tugged down over his nose. "I mean, I knew it was _bad_ , but…" Jared shakes his head. "Nothing like this. This is like a war zone, man."

Jensen knows what Jared means. The bottom had been dropping out of things for a while, the economy tanking as more and more people got sick, or fear of the flu kept businesses from opening their doors. People were scared—of course they were—but it wasn't like _this_. Just that morning, they'd been bitching about the warm cola Avery had offered and the long train ride ahead of them. Now…

"It's like _Lord of the Flies_ ," Jensen agrees. He looks back at the shops they’ve just passed and leans over to point out Jared's side of the window. "Hey, pull over there."

Jared looks and then nods when he spots the Safeway Jensen indicated. "Good plan."

"One of us should stay with the truck." Jensen opens the glove box and pulls out one of the replica guns he ganked from the Impala's arsenal. He offers it butt-first to Jared. "It's not much, but it might scare them off, if someone wants to start something." Jensen shrugs.

"We need to think about getting our hands on something real." Jared frowns down at the ‘toy’ gun before tucking in the front of his pants. At that moment, he looks very much like Sam Winchester when he’s fretting over something.

"Yeah," though the thought of using a gun on a human being turns him a little sick inside. From the look on Jared's face, he feels the same, though Jensen doesn't really have to look at Jared to know that. "Yeah, we should look for that next."

"You gonna be okay on your own?" Jared nods towards the storefront. The plastic windows have been shattered and the inside is dark, ominous. Jensen's just glad it's not on fire.

"Dude," Jensen scoffs, digging out the knife he brought from the set and a flashlight, "I'm from Texas."

Jared grins and they lock hands briefly. "Damn straight."

"If anybody's gonna be afraid, it should be the damn Canadians, eh?"

"Eh?"

"Eh."

They laugh and Jensen starts to turn away, his boot crunching in spilled cereal and broken glass. Then, troubled, he turns back. "Jay… If they really want the truck, just let them have it. It's not worth dying over."

Jared opens his mouth to say something, a slight hitch of breath. Then he stops. "Yeah," he says finally, unwillingly. "Yeah, I know."

Jensen thinks of another half-dozen things he could say—that he'd probably like to say—but they all come down to mother-henning a full-grown man who doesn't need it and won't thank him for it, so he raps sharply on the car door and pivots away for good this time.

Jensen scuffs through the garbage of the parking lot, half-angry with himself and resisting the urge to turn back and check on Jared again. He promised himself he wouldn't do this.

Jensen knows he's got a habit of getting inappropriately attached to the people in his life. But after the whole _Dark Angel_ fiasco—and what a clusterfuck that had been—he'd decided that if he couldn't stop himself from feeling these stupid crushes, at least he can stop himself from acting on them.

Jared really tests his resolve on that one, though; six-foot five of dorky, intelligent, enthusiastic, _built_ temptation right there in his face, damn near twenty-four/seven. What little praying Jensen's done in the last two years has revolved around Jared in one way or another, whether it was _Dear Lord, please make him stop giggling long enough to get through just one solid take of this scene before I strangle him with my bare hands. Your Son in Christ, Jensen_ or _If you don't stop him from leaning on me like that I'm going to embarrass myself by falling down on my knees and begging him to let me suck him off, so please give me just a little a break, Lord, and knock some sense into his drunk ass. Yours in Christ, Jensen._ Or, at its worst, _Please, God, give me the strength to stop wishing Sandy an ugly death by piranha or plague or something because she seems like a nice girl and it's not her fault that I think I can fuck her man better than she can. Your faithful son, Jensen._

Jensen sighs and kicks out some of the jagged plastic from the store's warped window frame more thoroughly before stepping over and into the Safeway proper. He twists on the flashlight—one of the good ones, that the crew used—and plays the light around. 

The store's been looted, as he expects; the shelves are mostly empty and the floor is littered in spilled, scuffled-over food. Jensen smells mildew. He smells rot. He doesn't hear anybody or anything other than a slow drip of something liquid somewhere in the back. He fights against the impulse to call out, "Anybody here?" Jensen's watched his horror movies—hell, he's _been_ in one—that never ends well. Better he mind his own beeswax and hope everyone else minds theirs. 

The carts are gone. All the registers have been stripped of their bundles of plastic and paper bag and he didn't think to empty out and bring one of the bags from the car. Stepping quietly, Jensen heads towards the back of the store.

The storeroom is less completely looted than the store proper though it's obvious the scavengers have been back here too. Jensen picks up the largest and least damaged box he thinks he can carry and starts filling it with canned goods, boxes of things that won't spoil. It's both darker and quieter back here and he feels his skin crawling, super-conscious of the huff of his breath and the fainter skitter of what he hopes are only rats. The storeroom is huge but the walls feel close and looming anyway. 

_Need to get back to Jared anyway._

He lucks out and finds both a case of powdered milk and one of bottled water. It's hard to manage and he ends up dragging the box with the two cases stacked on top through the store. Jensen's never going to tell Jared about it, but the minute he's in sight of the windows, he stops a moment to straighten up, turn around and make sure Jared and the truck are still there.

Jared's idling against the truck's front wheel, keeping an eye out on the street with a frown on his face. The wind's playing through his hair and he keeps having to push it back out of his eyes.

Jensen huffs a little laugh and resumes dragging his booty to the window. _Lord, I know you've got your hands full right now and all and my problem is a very small one…but if I have to be stuck at the end of the world with him, could you make him just a little less attractive? I'm trying real hard here and he don't make it any easier. Your son in Christ, Jensen._

Jared comes to help as Jensen lifts his prizes over the high sill of the broken out window. "Everything cool?" Jensen’s voice sounds a little rough as Jared picks up the milk and the water.

"Saw a tank few blocks up that way." Jared nods. "And there was a family…looked like they were hauling ass too. I asked them if they wanted to ride with us….what?" He meets Jensen's exasperated look squarely. "Dude, they had like…six kids. The youngest was still in arms."

Jensen pushes the box of food deeper into the bed of the pickup and sighs, scrubbing his fingers through his hair briskly. "Nothing," he says, not sure what he would've done in the same situation. There were times it was easier to be a selfish son-of-a-bitch, a lesson Jared probably wasn’t ever going to learn. "What happened?"

Jared looks embarrassed and scratches the back of his neck. "I think I scared them. They just ran off, without even a word."

"Just as well." Jensen looks his costar over, sees that the faint lines at the corners of Jared's eyes are bunched and his bounce just a little bit manic. _Jared's probably got a whopper of a headache_. He knows he does. "You want me to drive a while?"

"Yeah." Jared tosses him the keys so promptly Jensen knows he was right. "Thanks."

They climb in and pull out and in about ten minutes Jared's conked out, head back and mouth open, snoring like he's trying to win a prize. Jensen looks over at him and resists the urge to ruffle his fingers through Jared’s shaggy mane. 

_Okay. I know I was fooling myself on the less attractive thing, Lord. And if I had to be stuck with anybody, I could have a lot worse company. Thank you for keeping us safe and healthy and together. Please watch over us; I think we'll need it. Your son, Jensen._

II

They make a pact.

Agree to do what they have to--whatever they have to--to get back to the states, regardless of the implications, legal or moral. Jared thinks on that. It’s heavy shit. 

Hell, this is _all_ heavy shit.

He knows he’s young – too young to know much about war, too privileged to know hardship beyond a lack of sleep after a normal week on set. He also knows he can’t dwell on that too much or it’ll just overwhelm him. And he’s no use if he lets this bury him. 

Jared knows he’s committed to this – to Jensen – and let there be no mistake, he is committed to him. And he knows Jensen’s with him to the end, as well, and he’s rather surprised at how much easier that knowledge makes facing this whole shitload of wrong that’s going on around them. He takes a moment to thank God he’d had the foresight to ship the dogs ahead with some of the crew going back early, before the quarantine. Jared knows, without a doubt, he’d be a fucking mess if he had to worry about Harley and Sadie on top of everything else. 

He’s jostled from his musings when Jensen pulls into an alley behind a strip mall. It's a about a mile before they reach one of the police checkpoints leading out of Vancouver and Jensen says they need to _restructure_ their packs.

Clothes become the luxury when they pour the duffle and backpack out in the bed of the truck and sort through everything. They repack the bags with the food and supplies instead. Jared’s able to get a dozen or so bottles of water in the backpack, along with three cans of beans and the med supplies. Jensen puts the rest of the water, a couple boxes of powdered milk, and couple cans of food in the duffle, and then wads all the clothes that'll fit in what little room's left, which amounts to hardly more than a couple T-shirts. A towel is stuffed in as an afterthought. They wear Sam and Dean’s jackets over their lighter weight hoodies and a couple layers of shirts, though not so much that they can't move easy.

"It takes too long to get to LA and I'm going commando," Jensen says and Jared looks up to see him make a face at the slim pickings. He throws back his head and laughs and tosses a red oilrag in Jensen's direction.

"Here you can use this for a diaper. Wouldn't want you chafing anything important." He snickers and zips up the front compartment of the backpack. They both freeze as loud voices, angry and high-pitched, reach the alley from the streets. The thick, acrid smell of burning debris reminds Jared of trash day at the junkyard back home. Nothing happens, though, and after a few moments, they relax and swing out of the truckbed to climb back in the cab.

There's only the one roadblock left to maneuver and chances are good they'll get through. Jared figures Canada was trying to get rid of them this morning. Him and Jensen? They’re just helping the process. They've heard the horror stories, though, as whole families and groups of people traveling together pass by the truck, headed for some kind of relative safety. People getting split up. Family members--or whole families--disappearing into 'quarantine', never to be seen again. Flu infectees going crazy and infecting everyone around them.

They’re about to pull out when a young couple runs past. Jensen stands on the brake. The couple never stops, but they're not so fast that Jared doesn’t notice the blood staining the shawl the man's bundled around his wife, shielding her from eyes that will take her away from him to an unknown fate.

The bags share what little foot room Jared has and they each have a knife stuck in their belts. Jared thinks about how different their lives were less than twelve hours ago. Laughing, cracking wise. How ridiculous Mike would have sounded joking about them all "being on the lam" from the RCMP. The _RCMP_ , for Christ's sake! God, he hopes Mike and Tom made it out. He'd feel so much better if they'd been able to stay all together, and not just because there's safety in numbers.

"This is so fucked," he breathes, massaging the hammering pulse in his temples and Jensen nods.

"I know." Jensen's hands are white-knuckled at ten and two o’clock on the wheel. "Jay, we’re getting out of here, one way or the other, authorities or no." A car alarm goes off in the distance, blaring a tempo in time with Jared’s pounding headache.

Jared looks skeptical.

"Look, the whole world's crazy. You saw what happened this morning in the depot. I don't know about you, but I'm not taking any chances… on...on not being able to go home."

Jared finally nodded. "Yeah. Okay...we get the chance, we take it."

Their decision becomes prophesy. When they see a group of adolescent boys get stopped and separated from the rest of the people waiting to pass inspection, they take their shot. 

"Go! Now!" Jared shouts, but Jensen's foot's already on the accelerator and the truck's bouncing and careening across ruts and through blockade barriers before anyone even realizes they're not still sitting in the queue. They fly by a Saturn station wagon full of children in the back, the woman in the driver's seat wrapped in a scarf up to her nose. Jared recalls the burning makeshift barricades they'd passed in front of homes on the way out of town. The city is expelling its own. 

A few seconds later the horns honking and voices yelling after them tells Jared their escape has been noticed. He knows this is sheer stupidity and they're just asking for trouble or worse, but he sure as fuck isn’t staying here, cut off from everyone he knows and loves, in a country where he’s not wanted. He's a Texas boy and he wants to see the sun go down over the Alamo at least one last time before it all goes to shit.

"Hold on!" Jensen yells and yanks the wheel to the left, causing Jared to fall over into him.

Jared grabs the passenger door handle, pulls himself back up and braces with the other hand on the dash. Craning his neck out the open window, he sees two trucks just now starting up and whistles in relief. When he turns back around, he sees that Jensen's taking them along a wide concrete canal that's dried up. Debris litters the edges of the bed and when Jensen drives through a small pool of standing water, Jared smells the thick reek of stagnancy.

"How're we getting out of this?" He’s still holding on to the door frame and the dash since neither has buckled their seat belts.

"There." Jared follows Jensen's pointed finger and sees a maintenance exit that leads into an oversized culvert below the overpass ahead. "They'll think we went into the culvert, but we're gonna go up the embankment instead. We don't have more than a minute to find cover, Jay. Soon as we stop, grab the pack and head up that bank to right. I saw a park up there."

All Jared does is nod and try to catch his breath. His chest is tight, panicky; he closes his eyes for a few brief seconds and concentrates on breathing in deep and letting it out slow, gearing up. When he opens his eyes, Jensen's pulling the truck into the tunnel and there's no time for anything but action.

Jared swings out the door, banging it into the concrete side of the culvert. It bounces back to slam shut, but he's already up in the truckbed, hefting the backpack onto his shoulders. Jensen slings the duffel strap over his head and they both head for the weedy bank of the canal, scrambling and slipping on mud and grass, cutting themselves on twigs and brambles. It feels like it takes forever to climb what can't be more than twenty feet. Jared knows that's not true as they reach the top just as the siren sounds get close enough to tell the truck’s been spotted.

Jensen pushes Jared to the ground with a hand between his shoulder blades and they both lay still, just over the edge of the embankment and out of sight from anyone below. Jared searches out Jensen's eyes from under the hair half covering his face. The wink Jensen casts him does more to calm him down than all the breathing exercises in the world. He reads Jen’s message, loud and clear. _Long as we're together, we can do anything. I'm not going to let anything happen to you._

When the small gang of cops head into the culvert to check out the truck, Jared eases over the side and nods at Jensen's silent query. They carefully pick up the bags and head for the small copse of trees in the northwest corner of the park. The trees are barely more shrubbery, but they allow some small amount of cover while they scramble over the fence that surrounds the park and borders the highway they've just left.

"We gotta get off this road, dude." Jared looks toward the barricade, barely visible a mile back.

"No shit." Jensen readjusts the strap of the duffle.

Jared misses the easy-going chatter between them. Jensen probably hasn't said a dozen words since they left the truck and Jared isn't sure if that means he's scared or just focused. He sure knows which one _he_ is. A bump to his right shoulder makes him look back over and Jensen's nodding to the south. "There."

Jared glances to his left and sees the sign. The number one centered on a black Canadian maple leaf. He knows where they are. "Southeast then, right?"

Without answering Jensen leads them across the highway and back down to lower ground where they won't be easily spotted from the road. Traffic's nonexistent right now, but Jared knows the Canadian military and police will be patrolling, probably looking for them. Hopefully they won't have the manpower to go after two stray Americans, but he can't afford to assume anything anymore.

After a couple of miles, Jensen pulls out the map again and points a finger at the tiny print just north of the US border. "Abbottsford. We'll stay away from people till we get close to there. Hopefully the small towns weren't hit as bad and we can finagle some food and rest."

Jared hears him, but his gaze settles further south on the map. Washington. The United States. Home.

"Then, let's go." Jared can't help but wince a bit when he shifts the padded straps of the backpack. He rolls his head, trying to work out the kinks he assumes are the result of lugging fifty pounds on his back. His whole body is starting to feel like he's been on the wrong end of a very large stick, so he digs a couple more capsules out of his pocket and dry swallows them. So far the Advil isn’t touching it.

"Don't wuss out on me, now, Jay." Jared jerks his head around, ready to tell Jensen to fuck off, but Jensen's grinning and Jared can't help but shake his head and flip him the bird.

"You waiting on me, you're wasting time, man." 

Fifty miles. In Jared’s truck, that’s nothing. Less than an hour to the States. It feels like it might as well be a thousand right now.

III

"They put up a fucking fence, Jen!" Jared can’t believe – just totally blows his mind that they are having to crawl under a barbed-wire fence in the fucking dark to _escape_ from Canada. He has to stop a second to process that, which earns him a kick from Jensen.

"Go! I’m laying here, balls down, in a freaking _bog_!" Jensen’s harsh whisper is like a gunshot in Jared’s ear making him scuttle like a crab for a few more feet until he can’t feel the pressure of the fencing on his legs – twists around quickly to hold it up for Jensen’s last shove through.

America.

They both lie still, panting. Jared’s scared to move a muscle now that they’re supposedly ‘free’, like they could be yanked back through any moment. So, when Jensen rolls over with a grunt and pulls himself to stand, Jared just about shits his pants.

"Come on, Jen. Somebody might see us."

Jensen obviously thinks he’s lost his mind, but returns to Jared’s side and sits on the wet ground beating at the mud on his pants and probably just smearing it into the denim. "Shit! I can’t believe this." 

While Jensen grumbles about being wet, Jared clears his throat again, as quietly as he can. The tickle is coming back and he wishes for the hundreth time there’d been some cough drops in the infirmary. He’s sure crawling around in the cold wet muck of Canada hasn’t helped the cold he’s obviously catching. Jared's positive he hasn't been warm since coming to this country.

Jensen’s hand on his arm alerts Jared and he clamps a cold-reddened hand over his mouth firmly, quelling the overpowering urge to clear his throat again. They’re both quiet, listening to the stillness of the night that Jared has just realized sounds way _too_ still. He looks at Jensen, knowing it's too dark for Jensen to make out his face but that he'll still know the question Jared's asking with his eyes. 

Jensen shrugs—a rustle of cloth—leans in until his lips brush Jared’s hair and whispers into his ear. "Thought I heard something." 

Jared nods and waits some more. He’s about to chalk it up to both of them being jumpy as hell when he hears a sound that definitely doesn’t belong in the US-Canadian wilderness. The distant rumble of a revved motor. 

Jared doesn't think it's military, doesn't sound deep enough, aggressive enough, but Jensen’s already tugging on his elbow. Jared scrambles to get up himself and they both almost go back down in a tangle of legs. "We got to get away from the fence," Jensen hisses and Jared follows his dark silhouette across the clearing that’s been made for fence construction and into the thicket. He’s not feeling nearly as _safe_ as he thought he would just being back in the US of A. 

Sliding onto the ground next to Jensen, Jared ignores the sharp pain in his thigh that tells him he landed on something harder than mud. He clears his throat again, earning a shove to the shoulder beside him. "Sorry," he mumbles. 

The engine is definitely getting louder and there are other sounds now, as well. Voices – really loud, angry voices. The faint gleam of headlights through the trees. Jared jumps when a shot rings through the night and doesn’t realize he’s leaning into Jensen until they’re pressed together in the huddle from shoulder to legs. 

"What the fuck!" Jensen whisper-croaks and Jared looks over to see his eyes wide and mouth agape. 

"Sounds like someone’s in trouble. Should we…?" Jared doesn’t get to finish before Jensen’s wrapped an arm around the back of his head, clamping a muddy hand over Jared’s mouth. 

"Shhhhh." 

The engine sounds have stopped, but the loud voices, all male it sounds like, are getting closer. Whatever’s going on, Jared’s positive it can’t be good. 

The scene that plays out over the next ten minutes proves his fears well-founded. 

" _Please!"_

The first movement Jared detects comes from his right, almost exactly where they’d come out of the woods before fence-crawling the line. It’s a guy. Jared can't tell his age, but he moves like he's young, young as them. He’s barefoot and wearing hospital scrubs or pajamas. Then, a moment later it’s pretty clear he’s come from some type of medical facility when Jared spots the white tape on the tops of his hands, practically glowing in the moon and headlights. 

"Oh, God….please don't hurt me…"

Jared doesn't get a chance to think about what it means when the woods erupt with the splashing and squish-suck of boots running across the ground. Six men—all armed—circle the first man, now screaming – and begging – for them not to kill him. 

"Please…don’t do this."

Jared realizes he’s holding his breath and lets it out slowly, quietly. Jensen’s hand relaxes and falls from his mouth, but remains dangling over his shoulder. He must know how scared Jared is because he begins to slowly rub tight circles into the muscles between Jared’s shoulder blades, then lays his hand flat in the middle of his back, protectively. 

The gang on the Canada side jeers at their prey and closes the distance, moving in for the kill when the lone man kneels on the ground, his pleas growing into hysterics. Jared wishes he could cover his ears and block out the sound. 

"God, you have to believe me, Please! It’s not the flu. I don’t have the flu! It’s just allergies. I’ve had them all my life and they were just running tests so I could get cleared. Please," he trailed off, openly crying, hands clasped in front of him as he begged them not to kill him. "I have…a wife and kids…a new baby…" His words choke off with each gulping sob. The small crowd of men actually quiets and Jared’s eyes are burning with his efforts to stop the cough he feels burbling up his throat. 

In retrospect, Jared figures the first crack of a baseball bat across human skull is the fatal hit, making the rest of the attack bloodlust, pure and simple; the culmination of too much adrenaline feeding the frenzy of the hunt. 

Jared lies on the freezing ground with Jensen’s arm looped protectively around him, staring in fascinated horror while the dead man’s body rolls over, arms flailing out with blow after blow, kick after kick, until he’s just a blood soaked, muddy pile of skin and bones and cloth. 

The mob wastes no time with the body – just gather their chains, bats and guns and vanish back into the woods. They leave the crumpled figure to be scavenged by animals far more humane than they. 

The rain starts up again, but Jared doesn’t feel anything. He feels numb. He can’t believe he just watched a man being beaten to death for being sick. It feels so much worse than the scene at the depot with the military. Maybe because he’s positive these were just ordinary men last month, living their lives, doing their jobs, with families of their own. 

Or maybe because they sat there, in the mud and cold, and did nothing. Could do nothing. Jared always thought he was different than that, better than that. And maybe he was too.

Until the _apocalypse_ came. 

When he finally looks over at Jensen, he’s pretty sure his own horror is reflected back in the tears mingling with rainwater that’s leaving streaks down Jensen’s mud-stained face. 

"Fuck." The word is uttered softly. Reverently. 

"Fuck." Jared parrots and lays his head on crossed arms, finally giving in to the overpowering urge to just cry. Something he’s wanted to do since leaving Vancouver. 

When the sobs turn into racking, guttural coughs, Jared feels Jensen’s arm tighten in support and he simply turns his head until his face is pressed against the sopping wet material of Jensen’s shirt. 

"You’re getting sick," Jensen says. Jared doesn’t detect judgment or fear in his voice, so he just nods against Jensen’s chest. 

"Just a cold. Felt it coming on back at the set. I hate this weather." 

Jared pulls out of Jensen’s hold, takes a deep, shuddering breath and coughs once more, hand over his mouth. 

"Jay." Jared glances up reluctantly, knowing what he’ll see in Jensen’s eyes. 

"No!" he answers the look too loudly. "No." Softer now. "It’s just a cold." 

Jared spits out a large wad of phlegm and stands on shaky legs. "Come on. We got a long way to go."

IV.

They drive when they can. Neither one of them knows how to hotwire a car, but it's not like they need to; plenty of cars are abandoned with their keys still dangling from the ignition or with spares hidden under floor mats, in magnetic boxes in the undercarriage.

They drive whatever it is until they're out of gas or the road's impassable. Even on the small two-lane highways they follow meanderingly south, that happens a lot. More makeshift barricades, lots of abandoned cars, baking in the autumn sun doors flung open and their contents spilling out like stuffing from a toy. It's like something from the show, like that ep, “Croatoan,” like they're the last people left in the world.

Jensen knows they really aren't, though it doesn't stop freaking him the fuck out. They see other people here and there, mostly close to the towns. No one's really traveling. No one really dares. If they were in a situation less dire, at home, with their families, Jensen reckons they'd be just the same.

A couple times, they see military patrols. Jensen's not proud of the fact that he's a lot more scared of his own than the Canadians, but there it is. It's a kind of perverse pride, if you look at it right. 

But anytime they hear the rumble of their motors, he and Jared either stop the car and duck down low or hide wherever they can off the road. In Washington, they detour wide around the Fort Lewis Military Reservation, just to be careful.

Other folks just avoid them, and Jensen's just as glad. 

They have to do just about as much scavenging as traveling; a trip that could be managed in hours stretches into days. Jensen mentally lists all the things they still need, starting that first night when he and Jared had to huddle together under a single musty blanket at an abandoned ranger's station. Food runs out, water runs out—so quickly—and they have to stop and search, through stores and homes, robbing the dead to stay alive.

V

The sound of Jared sneezing on the sleepy, mostly empty street is like a gunshot. Jensen freezes and feels Jared do the same next to him. Then, recovering his senses, Jensen grabs Jared by his sleeve and tugs him sideways, towards one of the looted shop fronts, watching their back worriedly the whole way. No one seems to be around. No one seems to have noticed.

He shoves Jared into the shadowy quasi-safety of a burnt out dry-cleaners. Jared's shaking some, like he's pent-up with something and Jensen's willing to bet it's another sneeze. Inside the store, Jared sags a little against one of the walls and puts both hands tightly over his face to muffle it as he sneezes and then coughs. Still paranoid, his heart still doing the crazy mambo in his chest, Jensen steps forward and puts his hands over Jared's, trying to muffle it further. He doesn't think either one of them has forgotten the lynching at the border.

When the fit's over, Jared's gasping, a noticeable wheeze in the sound. Jensen angles Jared's face into the light and sees how red and watery his eyes are; feeling his neck, he feels how fast-hard Jared's heart is beating, but also that his lymph nodes are swollen.

 _No,_ he thinks, feeling like he's going to hurl in about half a second. _No, no, no… Not. Will not. Cannot._

Jensen swallows thickly around what feels like a brick in his throat. "We need to find somewhere to hole up," he says and Jared nods, still too winded to answer in words. "Fuck." He keeps the word quiet, without any of the vicious, helpless anger he feels, but Jared flinches anyway. Jensen's hands ball up with the urge to hit something.

"Come on," he says instead, grabbing Jared's sleeve again and tugging his costar towards the back of the building where the rear façade has completely burnt away.

Jared digs his feet in a little, using that extra thirty-five pounds and few inches of height to his advantage. Jensen stops and turns to look at Jared, impatient. "What?"

"I'm sorry, man." Jared's voice is hoarse like he's spent the whole night clubbing and bar-crawling instead of doing the Two-Man-March on the way to L.A.

Jensen shakes his head, feeling more pissed by the second. He has to remind himself it's not Jared he's angry with. "Dude, we can do this later. We need to get off the street before someone sees you."

Jared doubles half-way, one hand groping out to catch himself on the melted lump of the counter and the other going to cover his mouth as he starts coughing again. Jensen doesn't even think about it, just shoves Jared back into the wall, bracing Jay's weight with his, his fingers again coming up to mask the sound of the racking coughs. Jensen feels like he can barely hear anything for the tidal beat of his heart in his ears but he stares into Jared's eyes, seeing the pain and helpless gut-deep fear.

"Shhh," he says rapidly, mindlessly, babbling. "Shhh, I'm right here, man. You're okay, you're okay, just gotta calm down, you just gotta calm the fuck down and it'll be okay, Jay, man, I swear, I promise, just…shhhh, shhhh…."

Jared's limp when the spasm passes, held up pretty much by Jensen. He's on a slippery slope, but Jensen pulls Jared's head down so their foreheads nestle together, rubbing the sweaty nape of Jared's neck soothingly with one hand. "It's okay, man," he says again. "It's all right. Get you some sleep and you'll be right as rain."

"No." Jared straightens up. Even though they're still pressed against each other like the start of pretty much every wet dream Jensen's had on the subject, he can feel Jared withdrawing into himself, putting distance between them. "Jen—you gotta go on without me."

Jensen snorts. "Yeah. Not happening, man."

"Jen… Jensen. I'm sick."

"Yeah? So? You think I'm going to just leave you here in Bumblefuck, Nowhere because you caught a cold? You think I'm feeling so hot myself?"

"Jen." Jared brings his hand up and puts it flat on Jensen's chest, pushing him back. It's Jensen's turn to lock his knees and drop his weight, immovable. "You know how this works. I'm _sick_. I've been trying to….fuck, I don't know. But it's been like this since Vancouver. You have to leave me. I…" Jared ducks his head so Jensen can't see his face through his even-longer hair. "What if it's flu?"

"It's not." Jensen wraps his fingers in Jared's jacket sleeve, still refusing to be budged. 

"Jensen—"

" _It's **not**_ , okay?" Jared's giving him the full-on puppy eyes and Jensen doesn't know if he's ever seen his friend look so miserable or brittle. "We just…" He flaps his free arm helplessly. "It's not flu. Now come on. Help me find someplace to hide us. Just…just for a little while."

Jared's shoulders slump. He nods tiredly, white-faced under his fading tan, and accepts the supporting arm Jensen holds out to him. Jensen lets out his breath, feeling some cinched band of pressure release in his chest. 

"This is stupid, you know," Jared mutters as they totter unsteadily to the rear of the store and blink out into the whitish sunshine.

It is. Jensen knows that. _Fifty percent fatal in infected persons,_ he thinks. And then, a second later, _It's not flu. It's not. It can't be._ He tightens his arm around Jared's ribs. "Yeah, well, we always said I was the pretty one."

VI

The house is weather-beaten and old, paint peeling from the warped, silvery wood underneath. The green-shingled roof gapes black in places where the tiles have torn away. Jensen bets that the kids in the neighborhood—if there'd been any kids in the neighborhood—would've called the house haunted, or a witch's house or any of the stupid things kids think about houses like this all across the country. In any case, there's no red plague **X** across the door or governmental quarantine seal and no sign that anyone's living here now.

Jensen's not as good at locks as Jared; he just steers them around the back and breaks out one of the windowpanes on the back door then reaches through to unlock it from the inside. Jared's getting worse, the wheeze in his lungs clearer and louder as he struggles to breathe. His eyes look like he's been smoking some of Chris's best weed and he's snuffling every few minutes.

Jensen catalogues symptoms without thinking too deeply about them. _Allergies. He's got the allergies._ Helping Jared through the kitchen and into the rest of the house, Jensen's not sure if that’s better or not. Before the Avian Flu blew up and started raging across the world like a wildfire, the allergens from that damned glacier were killing plenty of people on their own.

Most of whatever furniture there'd been once upon a time is gone, but there's a horrible gold velour couch in the room with the fireplace. It's covered in dust but otherwise it doesn't look too sketchy and Jensen guides Jared down onto it, divesting him of his pack.

"I don't want…" Jared pants and fights for the breath to talk. "…want anyone to get sick."

"You won't." Jensen opens Jared's bag and paws around for the Musinex and Benedryl, hoping they'll help with the congestion.

" _Including you_ ," Jared says pointedly. His hands grip the cushion's edges tightly in effort to stay upright. 

Jensen also pulls one of their rapidly dwindling bottles of water—refilled or replaced wherever they could—and settles back on his heels, bottle and drugs held loosely in his hand. "Look. Jared. I know you're freaked out right now, and I guess I would be too, but you gotta listen to me. I'm not going anywhere. You're not sick—not _that_ sick and I'm not leaving you. Try and get that through your thick skull, willya?"

"Jensen—"

"Jared! This is the end of the fucking discussion, man! All right? Just...quit it and shut up and let me think, okay?" He shoves the blister packs and water at Jared, feeling a little bad for shouting but not enough to apologize.

Jared snuffles wetly and looks mulish, his jaw hard and set, but he takes the stuff from Jensen and starts downing pills.

Jensen sighs. His shoulders ache like his brother's been pounding on them—a favorite pastime in the Ackles' household—and he lets himself think longingly of Denyse, his favorite masseuse and Dr. Cho, his chiropractor. He realizes he doesn't know what happened to either one of them. Denyse was Canadian, but Dr. Cho was an American like them. 

"We can hang out here for a while," Jensen says finally. "I doubt anyone's going to come looking for us. Three days. That's how long incubation's supposed to take, right?" He looks at Jared who nods slowly, head down and hand braced on his knee as he wheezes. "Okay. So, if you're not sick in…say four days, just to be sure, then it's not the flu and we're good to go.

"And…if it is?" 

Jensen rakes a hand through his hair. It's getting almost as long as Jared's and it's driving him nuts. If they're stuck here for four days, he wonders if he can scrounge up some scissors. "Jay, I can only deal with one crisis at a time. Let's worry about tonight, okay? I got my work cut out for me making sure we'll get through that long."

"I can help." Jared bunches like he's going to push up off the couch. Jensen leans forward and shoves him right back into the cushions.

"You can't help yourself," Jensen snaps, just about ready to club Jared unconscious. "Now lie the fuck down, shut the fuck up and let me get on with it." He takes a breath. "Please."

"Yeah, okay." Jared sounds halfway between resigned and relieved. "Just…for a little while."

"Okay," Jensen agrees, though he means nothing of the sort. He realizes he's still holding Jared down, hands lingering. Slowly, reluctantly he settles back again. "Okay."

VII

Jensen spends most of the first day pillaging supplies, coming back every hour or so to check on Jared, afraid to leave him for too long. He forces himself to concentrate on each thing, tightly, tautly, unable to think too much or too far ahead. _Not Jay. Not Jared. No._ Panic hovers in the back of his mind like his own personal demon, impervious to both rock salt and denial.

He first covers all the windows in cardboard and cloth, then builds up a fire in the fireplace and bundles his friend under as many blankets as he can find while Jared shivers and fights for every breath in his lungs. In one of the plague houses, marked with gouts of blood-red paint in a giant, sloppy **X** , he finds an entire family dead in their respective beds and two albuterol inhalers that make it—and the loss of his meager lunch—worth it. Jared won't eat, but he drinks the water and tea Jensen bullies him into. Jensen tries to convince himself Jared's wheezing is better after a couple blasts from the inhaler, but he doesn't know. Not really.

The second day, Jared's worse, burning with fever and begging Jensen to leave him, to go, in a cracked, shaking voice. Jensen leaves long enough to find a florist. The interior of the shop makes him gag with the thick reek of rotting plants, but he finds what he was looking for and takes a double handful of dried eucalyptus back to the house and puts it in a pan of water close enough to the fire that the smell of boiling eucalyptus fills the small space they've taken as their own. 

"Jensen?" Jared says, mid-afternoon on that second day, his eyes small and bright in the too-long tangle of his hair. "I'm scared, man."

The tips of his fingers are hanging from under the blanket and at the admission, Jensen does what he otherwise wouldn't, wrapping his hand around Jared's. "Me too," Jensen says. "But we're gonna be fine."

Jared doesn't say anything and when Jensen looks, Jared's sleeping.

VIII

"Jensen?"

Jensen opened his eyes, unaware until the low sound of Jared's voice that he'd been more than halfway to sleep. "Yeah?" His back aches. He sits up and stretches his crossed legs out, extends his arms up over his head. 

"I was thinkin'…" Jared's sleepy or zoned out too and _was_ thickens on his tongue to become _whuz_. He trails off, though, and even tired as he is, Jensen has to smile. 

He looks over. "Yeah, Jay? What were you thinking?"

"'Bout you."

Jensen takes a breath, can't find the words to fill it up and lets it out again. Fuck, he's tired. He tries again. "What're you talking about, man? Think about me how?"

Jared flails around under the mound of blankets and eventually humps over onto his side, eyes bright beneath the sweated out tangle of his hair. "I know you like guys, dude."

Another moment that Jensen doesn't know what the hell to do with, staring at Jared. His cynicism is fast on the uptake, though and he thinks, _Great. Here we go. Is this the 'don't rape me while I'm sleeping' or 'just don't touch me at all, you perv'?_ "Aw, Jay, you're delirious." 

He can't believe it; end of the fucking world and Jared's going to kick up dust just because Jensen likes dick? 

"Naw, I knew. Back on the show, I knew."

All his acting skills can't soothe the bitterness from his voice as he demands roughly, "Yeah? What exactly do you think you know, Jay? Who told you I was gay?"

"Jeff…"

"Jeff?" Jensen grunts in surprise and an even deeper hurt. "That fucker. Here I was busting my ass to be so damn _discreet_ and he's outing me to everyone? The fuck?"

"No…" Jared shakes his head, starts to push up from his nest of blankets. "I saw you—the two of you. Saw him kiss you."

"Oh." Jensen feels his face heat up and not just with the memory of the kiss. He fiddles with the stiff, dirty hem of his jeans. "Yeah. Okay, yeah. I like dudes sometimes. So what?"

"So nothin'." Jared's eyes glitter fever-bright as he pushes his hair back off his forehead. In the back of his mind, Jensen starts counting seconds, betting himself how soon it'll flop back down again. "I just… I just been thinkin' 'bout it."

"Yeah? What were you thinking?" Jensen picks up his stick and pokes at the fire some more, feeling mulish and freaked out and really damned uncomfortable. The thought that Jared might want to split up over this…except, if Jared's known this long…?

"Thinking about you," Jared says softly, a good while after Jensen's forgotten he's waiting for an answer. "What it would feel like, kissing you. Touching you. Fucking you."

Jensen would say his brain doesn't have a thought in it when Jared says that, but apparently, his mouth doesn't need the endorsement of his brain when he comes back, "Oh, so you just _assume_ I'm the bottom?"

Jared gives him a look, clear and still as glacial waters. 

Jensen scrubs a hand across the back of his neck and normal brain function resumes…if normal brain function can be assumed to be a billion different thoughts, all running on their own hamster wheels frantically. "Okay…well… Shut up. You're delirious, remember?"

"I'm not delirious," Jared says steadily and it's the most lucid he's sounded all day. His face is beet red, though, bleeding down into his neck. "I just… If I don't die, you think…? You think maybe _we_ …?"

Jensen takes a breath. Lets it out. Was his chest this tight a minute ago? "Which one? Kiss or fuck?"

"Either?" And now Jared's eyes are gleaming with something other than fever. "Both?"

"Yeah, Jared." Jensen sighs and his fingers are shaking a little when he puts the stick back down. "If you don't die, I think maybe we."

"M'a good kisser," Jared says, sliding forward to reach for Jensen's face. Jensen ducks aside and grabs Jared's fingers with his own. "All the fan boards say so." He leers. " _Sexass_."

"Dumbass is more like it," Jensen says, but it makes him laugh which he knows was Jared's intention. He rubs his thumb over the back of Jared's hand, a little amazed. He'll let go soon. In a minute. "Can't believe the amount of time you wasted reading that shit."

Jared squeezes and draws Jensen's eyes back up to him. "Don't got time to waste anymore, Jen."

Jensen wants to say something flip, but Jared's looking at him like that and holding his hand and Jensen doesn't know. He just doesn't know. There's no reason for them not to do this anymore. They're not costars anymore. They don't work together. And, given what's going on in the world, no one's going to know and no one's going to care if he and Jared sleep together. He just… He's been so careful and for so long.

But Jared's right.

"Yeah," Jensen says and Jared's hand turns in his, palm to palm and pooling heat between them. "Yeah, okay."


	3. Chapter 3

I

"Hey." 

Jensen opens his eyes and finds Jared's face _right over_ his own. He jerks. "Jay. Dude. What the fuck, man. Way to give me a heart attack."

"Do you know what today is?"

And Jensen doesn't care what's going on in the rest of the world; it's just too early for this shit. He stretches, whining protest, and scratches his hair. "Um. Monday?"

Jared's eyes are twinkling and again, _right there_ , and Jensen wishes Jared'd back off a little bit, because his morning wood's becoming considerably more…wooden. "It's the fourth day," Jared says. He's grinning and though he's filthy and sweaty and his hair's totally greasy-limp against his forehead, when he smiles he looks so fucking innocent and hot that Jensen has to shift uncomfortably in his blankets.

Jensen's so busy being distracted by the grin and the hot (and an idle wondering how Jared's cheek mole would feel under his tongue) that it takes him a minute to realize what Jay said. "Oh, shit. It is, isn't it?"

"Yeah." And the wattage on the smile gets even brighter as Jared scoots a little closer. Jensen's hand moves to cover his cock, as if that's going to make a difference. "It's not the flu."

"Aw, hell, Jay, I could have told you that." Jensen doesn't want to make a big production of it, but he's got nowhere to go in the bed and Jared's so close and it feels like it's been forever since he's been _touched_ , let alone laid.

Then Jared touches his face. Just…a light brush of his fingertips from Jensen's temple to his cheek, where it rubs lightly against his stubble and Jensen thinks, _Oh._ "Jay?" he asks cautiously. He almost makes it 'Jared', but that would be too formal, an extra level of uncomfortable-weird.

"Jensen," Jared says back, easy as you please. He starts bending and Jensen's stomach tightens. Then Jared sort of jerks to a halt, eyes and lashes flicker-fluttering, all dorky hesitance. "Is it… Can I…"

Jensen opens his mouth to say something along the lines of _you most certainly can!_ or maybe just _hell, yeah_ , when Jared growls, "Ah, _fuck it_ ," and lays one on him.

Even though Jensen's been wanting (hoping) something like this since about two seconds after he met Jared and thinking about it ever since Jared brought it up, it still takes him by surprise. His mouth was already half-open and Jared's not slow in slipping him the tongue, dipping into Jensen with a heated confidence he didn't expect. Jared's fingers tilt Jensen's face slightly to a better angle and Jensen gets over his _holy shit, he's kissing me_ long enough to start using some of his own expertise. 

He shifts his lips across Jared's, the tip of his own tongue sweeping across the firm line of Jared's lower lip before rising to slide across Jared's tongue. Jared makes a sound, soft and almost-surprised, before his hand comes to cradle the back of Jensen's neck and head. Jensen feels almost tiny, cupped in that giant palm and it's a weird kind of turn-on, sending what's left of his blood south of the border until his cock's aching in time with his heart.

The first kiss breaks, spit-soft lips nuzzling across each other and Jensen panting like he's been running. Then Jared shifts closer—close enough Jensen can feel his cock, hard and full against his leg—and Jensen doesn't have time for more than a breathless, "Jay—" before Jared's kissing him again.

It's hungrier this time, harder, like Jared's tumbled to the fact that he's kissing a guy. Jensen twists his fingers in Jared's hair. Even dirty, it's so soft, little curls tickling his palm. Jensen tugs a little, experimentally, and Jared hitches, his cock twitching against Jensen's thigh. Jensen slides one hand down slowly, giving Jared the opportunity to freak or back out, but when it cups around Jared's ass and pulls him closer, Jared's only response is to moan softly and deep in his throat and thrust against Jensen's leg.

"I want…" Jared pants over Jensen's lips, still making those same slow hip rolls, "I don't… Can I…?" His fingers skate over Jensen's cock, too light to be good. Jensen reaches down and holds Jared there, rubbing up into that giant, spread palm.

Jared angles his head and scrapes across Jensen's throat with his teeth before stopping to suck hard over the vein. "Jared," he groans, "Jared, Jay, man…touch me." He rides up against Jared's hand, wanting—needing—more.

"Yeah," Jared breathes. His fingers fumble with Jensen's button, the zipper. "Yeah, me too."

It's all the invitation Jensen's been waiting for. He's better at this; he's got the fly of Jared's jeans open before Jared's sorted his hands out. He pushes the denim down over Jared's hips, hooks his fingers in the waistband of Jared's boxers and pulls them out of the way too. "Jared?" he asks, tentative as he traces the thick, heavy shaft with just the pads of his fingers.

Jared groans against Jensen's neck, his cock shivering at the touch. "Yeah." Jared fights with Jensen's clothes a little and finally just draws Jensen out through the slit of the boxers. "Yeah, please, Jen, just…"

Jensen wraps his palm around Jared's cock and strokes, smooth and steady, suddenly as horny as if he were ten years younger. 

"Jensen, I… I want to, I just… Jesus, I don't even know what to do."

"Yeah you do," Jensen coaxes. He wraps Jared's fingers around his cock, tangles his own on top of them. "You got a dick, you know what to do."

"I want it to be good."

Jensen's head presses back into the thin pillow. "Jared, it's _already_ good. Just get me there."

Jared pulls back, watching Jensen's face while he strokes, harder, firmer, gaining confidence with every gasp and writhe he's pulling out of Jensen. No one else's ever looked at Jensen like this, with this same concentration, this same wonder. It's so hot. God, it's so _hot_.

Jared brushes the thumb of his other hand across Jensen's lip and Jensen bites and then suckles the tip, dirt and salt. "I'll take care of you," Jared says, completely serious and it's like a switch being thrown, dumping all the building tension straight into his dick and out; Jensen's coming so hard he can't even keep a grip on Jared, twisting and moaning, his heels trying to dig through to China.

"Yeah," Jared mutters against the side of Jensen's face while Jensen does his best imitation of a landed fish. "Yeah, that was what I wanted to see. God, Jen. _God._ " He shifts a little, his fingers rubbing Jensen's come into his belly. "Jen."

"Hnnngh."

Jared whines a little and takes Jensen's hand, wrapping it again around his thick, unsatisfied cock. "Please, man. Touch me." Jensen feels deep, shamed heat sweep him that he'd been so wrapped up in afterglow he'd forgotten.

He thinks about sucking Jared, or letting Jared fuck him, but when he turns his face to look Jay in the face, sees his eyes, wide, desperate and uncertain, he remembers he needs to take this slow. "I got you," Jensen says finally, hoarsely, dragging his fingers down Jared's length and then back to the crown. "M'sorry."

He kisses Jared before Jared can say anything else, watching his eyes flutter closed before he closes his own and concentrates on the soft-firmness of the mouth on his and the solid-softness of the dick in his grip. 

In all his porny thoughts about Jared, he never imagined the noises (though a part of him thinks he _should_ have, since the kid never shuts up, even—apparently—during sex); quiet, hurting moans in his deep, honeyed voice and made quieter by Jensen's mouth over his…it makes Jensen want to come all over again, make Jared come over and over again, just so he can keep hearing it.

Jensen knows Jared's close when he starts shaking, when his pitch rises and his fingers clutch Jensen's wrist in universal _don't stop, don't you fucking stop_. Jensen twists away from Jared—just a little—and slides down the sprung mattress to take just the head of Jared's cock into his mouth, tongue lapping hard against the underside.

Jared cries out sharply and bucks. Jensen's expecting it and opens his mouth wider, letting Jared fuck deep. "Oh." Jared's hand palms Jensen's head, fingers tangling in his hair. "Oh, Jen. Jesus. Jen." 

And that's all the warning Jensen gets before Jared comes, fierce, fiery spurts that sear the back of Jensen's throat. He chokes and then swallows quickly again and again, still licking, sucking, bringing Jared down.

Jared falls flat on the mattress, still wheezing faintly as he pants. "Goddamn."

Jensen levers up, guilt settling in now that he's thinking with the big brain again. Even if it's not Flu, Jared's still not well. "You okay?"

Jared's smile is lazy and pleased. "Dude. I am awesome."

Jensen chokes on a relieved laugh and flops back himself, eyes closed as he scratches idly at the drying come caught in the sparse hairs of his belly.

"Jen."

"Yeah?"

"We okay?"

Jensen snorts and rolls his head towards Jared. Jared's looking back at him, all slanty and cat-eyed. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? No heterosexual freak-out?"

Jared huffs and humps a little closer, his fingers tickling idly against Jensen's wrist. "Naw. I just got my dick sucked. I'm jus' fucking fine."

"That wasn't dick sucking," Jensen informs him, "that was barely dick tasting. I suck you, you aren't even gonna remember your own damn name for a week." Jensen lifts his hand from the sheet and runs it lightly along Jared's thigh. The skin shivers but doesn't flinch; Jared spreads his legs a little to give Jensen better contact; his fingers creep over Jensen's bicep, gentle and strong, caressing.

"Jen?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it…? Can I?" Jared's eyebrows are pulled down over his nose; Jensen can't read his expression, other than a touch of shyness that looks out of place on Jared's open face. "C'mere," Jared says finally and reaches for him, pulling him closer. Jensen gets the gist and arranged himself half on top of Jared, who still feels warmer than normal. "Is this okay?" Jared asks. "Too weird?"

"S'fine." Jensen closes his eyes again, not wanting to admit how fine. For all his standoffishness with strangers, he needs a fair amount of skin on skin contact from his friends and loved ones. He rests his forehead on Jared's shoulder. 

"Jen?"

Jensen groans. "You know, most people get laid, they want to sleep, Jay."

There's a perceptible pause. Then: "I wanna go home, Jen. I want… I don't want to die here."

"I thought we'd just settled you weren't dying at all."

"Don't. You know what I mean."

Jensen thinks of his parents' house, air-conditioned and tidy, and Mackenzie mooching food out of the fridge. The hammock in the back yard on the days it's almost too hot to breathe. Yeah. He knows what Jared means. Jensen's head dips, tracing Jared's collarbone with the tip of his nose and ending with a kiss to the hollow of his throat. It should be weird. It's not weird. "Tomorrow. We'll leave tomorrow."

Jared puts a hand to his forehead and fakes a horribly syrupy Southern accent. "For it _'tis_ anothah day."

Jensen groans and pushes at Jared's jaw. "For that, I should make you sleep in the wet spot. Dork."

II

Jared gazes out over the Pacific, breathing deep and ignoring it when it twinges, deep in his lungs.

As a Texas boy, he can't get over his awe of ocean sunsets, even after the years he's spent mooching around in California. Given he was almost nineteen before he ever saw one, maybe that's not such a surprise. And this one? If not for the fact that the world they knew is hell and gone and he never knows when he’s going to have the one allergy attack that’s going to kill him—well, this sunset could be the most perfect ever. 

Jensen reclines next to him, head propped up on an elbow. Jared doesn’t even try to resist the urge to lie down beside him, a hand on Jensen’s waist, slipping under layers to touch bare skin. They’ve gotten very touchy—not so feely—since _that night_ (as Jared refers to it in his head), like they're storing it up, replacement for everything they've lost. His fingers spider down, over smooth-worn denim crusted with grime, down Jensen’s thigh and back up. All the walking's put on more lean muscle, but he’s pretty sure Jensen’s hipbone wasn’t always this prominent. Of course, since he wasn’t as familiar with it before he can’t be sure. 

"Should be in California in a couple days," Jensen says, thick-sleepy-voiced and heavy-lidded. It’s been a hard day's travel. All Jared wants is a real bed, a real pillow and his dogs—oh, and Jensen—curled up next to him. Settling for Jensen and some sleep seems like a fair enough trade at this moment, though.

They’ve slept on the beach as much as possible, following the inevitable trail of the coast, the one-oh-wonder, as they say. It isn’t always feasible or practical, but when they can find a good stretch at the end of the day, it’s the safest they can be. More defensible. And how fucked up is that? 

Jared can’t rightly recall when they came across the first signs that Avian flu, allergies and soldiers weren't the only things killing folks, but he remembers the bodies, stripped and mutilated, lying in dried up pools of their own blood where they fell. They've been cautious and they've been lucky.

Jared recalls the group of travelers they’d camped near last night. Itinerant workers, also making their way back south. Jensen sat by their little fire pit dug in the sand, quiet and listening while Jared tried out his half-ass TexMex. He managed to remember enough to have the men laughing and slapping him on the back, when five minutes ago they’d cast suspicious looks, muttered in Spanish and fingered their guns nervously. Even afterwards, though, they'd put themselves between the two of them and their families, including two babes in arms. Jared hadn't tried to get any friendlier than that and he was aware of Jensen lying awake and watchful long after he was fading into the woolen arms of sleep.

When Jared woke this morning, they’d already gone. Their fire wasn't even smoking anymore, just a black smudge on the grey beach pebbles. There was never a question of traveling together. The world's much too suspicious for that anymore. They're on their own.

He figures they’re a week out of LA now, based on how long it’s taken them to get this far. It’ll be easier following the beach until they get to San Francisco. He and Jensen both know people there; they're hoping they might be able to recruit or beg some help in getting a ride down to LA, or at least touch base, get some real news. 

The sun is visibly sinking now and Jared watches it disappear until only the blue-purple-orange streaks of backlit clouds are left to light the beach. 

"California," Jared agrees. "Never thought I’d really think of it as home, but right now… Man, I’d settle for it." 

They’ve stopped talking about Texas. As long as it's taken them to get just this far, it seems like a whole other world and just bums them both out. "It’ll be good to see the dogs. I hope Rachel didn’t have any trouble with them," he says, referring to the AD who’d volunteered to watch Sadie and Harley until Jared could catch up. It was only supposed to be a day or two. 

"They love her. I think the only thing you need to worry about is how spoiled they’re going to be when you pick ‘em up." 

Jensen sounds exhausted which is pretty much how Jared feels. Tired and sore, with a constant ache from the allergies. He's always been so healthy before. He doesn't know if he's ever going to get used to this: the headaches, the tightness of his chest, the attacks that come out of nowhere and can be as mild as a sting in his eyes that makes him cry himself blind or as bad as the time his heart stuttered and damn near stopped before Jensen jabbed him with one of the epinephrine pens they snagged from the studio.

It’s easier to just drift off into a doze with Jensen’s warm body beside him. 

Jared’s gotten used to the salty tang in the air. It's pitch-black when he wakes and he inhales deeply ( _not too deeply_ ) before rolling over to retrieve the blanket he threw off sometime in his sleep. It's a bad habit. He wakes up shivery and cold every morning because they don’t keep the fire going once they bed down. On the other hand, Jared's become an expert at predicting how late or early it is by the chill. He figures now the sun’s probably still three or four hours from rising. 

Only half-consciously, he reaches out and the spot where he expects to find Jensen next to him is empty. He sits up fast, rubbing the sleep and grit out of his eyes. Jared thinks he’s probably got sand and dirt ground permanently into every pore of his skin by now. 

Jensen must be feeling the same way because after a few moments, Jared hears him splashing around in the surf between the roar of the waves. Even if it is saltwater, getting some of the grime scrubbed off his body and out of his hair sounds like an excellent idea to Jared. He throws the blanket off again and stumbles over the rocks until he’s at the coarse sand of the water’s edge. When he gets close enough, Jared waves and he can sorta see Jensen grin at him, fighting the waves. 

"Awesome idea, man. I feel twenty kinds of dirty." The water is actually really fucking _cold_ , which makes Jared's breath catch and his balls shrink up tight, but he braves on in, determined not to give Jensen the opportunity to call him a wuss. Because Jensen will.

"Use the sand to scrub with." Jared is close enough to hear the shiver in Jensen's voice. He reaches out to rub his hands briskly up and down Jensen’s arms, shoulder to elbow, vigorously working to increase the circulation to warm him and dismiss the goose bumps he feels dancing across his friend’s skin. Jared doesn't expect to be thanked with a dunking as Jensen mischievously falls back into the ink-black surf, causing Jared to lose his balance and follow him down. 

Spluttering and whipping his too-long hair out of his face, Jared comes up swinging. He shoves Jensen back down when Jen emerges beside him, before swimming farther out of reach and into bathing depth. When the water’s up to his armpits, Jared stands up and scrubs at his chest with a handful of scooped sand. He waves at Jensen who’s decided to go back to their makeshift camp and wait. Jared hopes he decides to rebuild the fire. 

When he’s done, he sees tiny flickers that reassure him Jensen is still on his wavelength and smiles. Jared plops down on the blanket, which Jensen has thoughtfully shaken free of extra sand, swings his head like Harley and sends a spray of cold water over Jensen’s now dry naked body. 

"Hey jerkwad!" Jensen reaches to the side for a handful of sand. Jared raises both hands in surrender and calls a truce. 

"Okay, okay! I’ll be nice!" 

Jensen casts him a dubious look from under his lashes. "How nice?" 

And all at once, Jared’s not cold anymore. At all. The flush sweeps down his neck and over his chest—like it does every time he thinks about him and Jensen…and sex. "I can be real nice," he drawls and reaches down between Jensen’s legs, snorting with satisfaction when he feels the hard length of Jensen’s dick lying almost flat against his stomach. 

Yep, definitely on the same wavelength. 

That’s the extent of their conversation on the matter. Jared shoves Jensen to his back and straddles him, hands resting on Jensen’s bare thighs. Jared’s done with words and expects Jensen is too. The things they do together under the blankets and stars don't require words and they don't really need them anymore. Jared doesn’t know what to say about this _thing_ between them, anyway.

What he does know is that kissing Jensen, touching him, fondling him, has become as natural as everything else between them from the moment they first read together for _Supernatural_. Jared's stopped worrying about his sexuality or giving much thought to what this means or, heaven forbid, where it’s going. Meeting simple, basic needs has become a challenge, he’s satisfied to meet this one by letting Jensen teach him all the things he’s grown so curious about since the morning he woke up and knew he wasn’t going to die that day. 

Jensen seems perfectly happy to oblige. Jared has the kissing part down good. Real good, he figures, and feels his dick twitch just like it does every time he thinks about Jensen’s lips and mouth. It's hard to keep his hands off of Jensen, actually. He’s become familiar with the angles and planes, valleys and peaks, of Jensen’s body over the past week; at the same time, he's both anxious and hesitant to bump things up a notch. 

They talked about fucking; Jared brought it up the first night after they left the old farmhouse where they'd waited out his first attack. But they haven’t gotten to the fucking yet; Jensen's been pretty firm about waiting for that part. Jared thinks Jensen's still waiting on Jared to freak out about the whole thing, so they’ve only done other things, started the preparations, as Jensen calls them, since getting back on the road. 

Jensen wriggles to a more comfortable position on his back. He'd explained to Jared that it’d been a while—a really long while, actually, since he’d let a man…well, since he’d been fucked. Despite what Jared saw on-set with him and Jeff, Jensen was quick to let him know there hadn’t been anything but flirting and some kissing between them. 

Before he got back in the saddle, Jensen joked, they needed to take their time 'til they were both comfortable with that level of physical intimacy. Of course, Jen didn't _say_ it like that; more half-spoken sentences and guy gestures and significant glances, until Jared got the point. If Jared is going to stick his big dick up Jensen’s ass, then Jensen needs to work up to it. 

For the second night in a row, Jared pulls out the tube of lube he’d snatched up at an abandoned truck stop just outside Portland. The sight of Jensen, spread out on the blanket, right leg canted up, takes Jared’s breath away. This. This is the reason he can't question the decision to give it a go with his costar. Already, he feels so familiar with Jensen’s body. At the same time, he feels like there's so much more about it he has yet to find out, discover, know. Already he can’t imagine never being able to touch it with mouth or fingers again. 

Jared leans over for a kiss, lingering, wet. He hadn’t been shitting Jensen back at the house. Jared knows he's a good kisser and he enjoys putting everything into the ones he shares with Jensen every time they stop to eat or sleep. Judging by the jutting flagpole of Jensen’s dick, he concurs. 

With warm, slicked fingers, he traces the inside of Jensen’s thigh, smearing lube over the smooth skin of his inner leg before tickling behind his sac where he knows Jensen likes to be touched. Jared is rewarded with a hitch of Jensen’s hip and shift that spreads his legs even further apart, with one wrapped neatly around Jared’s back. 

Jensen moans into his mouth and Jared knows that's his signal to slip a finger through the tight ring of muscles into Jensen. He swears Jensen's the tiniest bit looser tonight. Connected at mouth and root, Jared loves the sensation of feeling like he's a part of Jensen. Like they’re melded into one being. Jared’s reactions to the physical proximity of Jensen go far beyond that of simple friendship. They’ve crossed a line somewhere along the way and Jared figures that, of this whole mess, he wouldn’t change that part even if he could. 

Two fingers glide smoothly inside Jensen’s passage and Jared curls his finger just the way Jensen taught him until Jen bucks and pushes and pulls his mouth from Jared’s to let out a loud moan of pleasure. Jared mouths against Jensen's thigh, feeling the muscles tremble and tense.

"That’s it, Jen. Open up for me. God, want to fuck you soon." Jared keeps up the litany of sex talk and encouragement while Jensen loosely fists Jared's cock. 

"Three, Jay. M'ready for it." Jensen’s voice cracks and Jared humps into his hand until he tightens his fist, jacking Jared in time with the slow, languid rhythm of his fingers sliding in and out of his ass. 

They haven't gone beyond three fingers yet but Jared wonders already if Jensen could take a fourth. God, he wants to see that. Almost as much as he wants to watch Jensen take his cock, feel the hot, velvet softness of him against the sensitive skin. Jared tucks his pinky in with the three he’s already using and massages Jensen’s hole lightly with his other hand as he slides the whole group in to the lower knuckle. He stills when Jensen grunts, worried, but when he doesn’t start up again, Jensen prods him in his whiskey rough voice. 

"Oh, God, yeah, Jay. Like that. Open me up." 

He doesn't know if it's the feel of Jensen twitching and shaking and gripping him, or the words, Jensen's sex-raspy voice, but Jared’s reaction is to gasp in surprise as his balls tighten all at once and he comes all over Jensen’s hand and onto both their bellies. He slides his come up and down Jensen’s shaft, feeling the muscles tighten and contract around his fingers at the moment Jensen yells, "Fuck, I’m coming," to God and Jared and the water birds nesting a few yards from their camp. 

Jared thinks he likes the noise Jensen makes when he pulls out best, quiet and almost regretful. He chews gently at Jensen's mouth and then soothes the soreness with soft, quick laves of his tongue. Jensen is loose-boned, malleable, as Jared curls up around him, oddly protective.

When Jared pulls the blanket over them both, for a moment he realizes how early it is by their previous standards. Hell, they’d still be working scenes if the show hadn’t been canned. The last thing he remembers before falling asleep is the feel of Jensen’s fingers carding through his hair, tickling a bit when he traces around behind his ear, finally resting them in the curve of Jared’s neck. "S'good," he mumbles, or tries to; he doesn't know if he quite manages it before he's falling like a stone through the layers of darkness.

Just as they sleep when the sun goes down, they rise with it, as well; a cycle they’ve adopted since Jared was well enough to travel again and Jensen decided they’d be okay traveling only during the day. 

Wasting daylight is a sin these days. 

The sun catches brass-gold highlights in Jensen’s hair when he shakes out their blankets. Jared wonders if his own hair has lightened as much as Jensen’s since they started this journey. He hasn't really looked at himself—in mirrors or even storefront glass—in a while now. He thinks he might be a little afraid to. So much has changed. 

Refreshed and not quite as filthy, they’re both loaded up in less than half an hour after Jared wakes. Their packs are disturbingly light and Jared follows without question when Jensen heads inland a bit, staying just west of the 101, but within sight of any of the small coastal towns they might pass heading south. Time to scrounge again, dig up what supplies haven’t already been looted or spoiled. 

That night they find an abandoned ranger’s station just inside Siskiyou National Forest. They’re so close to the state line; Jared’s torn between wanting to keep going, just so they can sleep in California and getting to sleep on an actual mattress if they stay at the station. Still, the lure of California—home—is strong and as his headache worsens, Jared gets increasingly vocal about it and increasingly irritated as Jensen keeps blowing him off. 

"Dude, shut the fuck up about it already," Jensen finally says, dropping the duffle on the tile floor before inspecting the two rooms and three closets that make up the cabin. "I'm beat, okay?"

Jared just stands there. All of a sudden _everything_ catches up to him and hits like a brick; the exhaustion, the fear—the confusion—it all just comes out in one seething burst. 

"I don’t think you want to get home." 

Jensen stops midway to the kitchenette and wheels around, _what the fuck_ printed all over his face. Jared hears the bitter words pouring out of his mouth without being able to stop them. 

"I think you’re tripping on this whole survivalist scene. The hiding and sneaking and looting. What the fuck, man? Who do you think you are—Dean Winchester for real? We could have been in LA by now if you didn’t want to stop at sunset every night. This cloak and dagger shit gets you off!" 

"Jay—"

"Shut up!"

Jared’s face feels hot and his eyes burn like he’s about to fucking _cry_. He clenches his fists until the nails cut into him palms and feels the blood rushing in his head. All he can hear is the _shush shush_ of his pulse pounding louder and louder in his ears just before his knees buckle. His hands dart to his throat, trying hard not to panic while instinctively yanking at the neck of his shirt in an attempt to breathe. His belly clenches and sours. When he falls over with cramps, gasping for air, eyes watering, he feels Jensen’s hands on his shoulders, easing him down to the camp bed before ripping the backpack open. 

" _Shit._ Jared, hold on… s’okay, try to relax, s’okay s’okay…" Jared doesn't know if Jensen's trying to convince him or himself, his eyes wide and frightened. Jared tracks Jensen as he jerks an epi-pen out of its holder and wheels back to lay the cylinder on the floor while he frantically works at Jared’s pants. 

Jared forces himself to straighten his legs and uncurl from the fetal position he so wants to hold. When he feels Jensen tugging at the waistband, he tries to raise his hips. 

"Got ya, Jay. I gotcha. Here we go. Gonna be good now. S’okay." Jensen presses the tip of the pen to Jared’s thigh firmly, using his free hand on Jared’s pelvic bone to hold him still. "Just breathe, okay? You gotta relax. I need you to relax and breathe. I'm right here." Jensen's palm presses against the center of Jared's chest, making slow, soothing circles. "I'm right here."

The epinephrine is working in seconds and Jared feels the muscles of his chest relaxing and tries hard not to automatically pull in the deepest breath of air he can hold. _Relax_ he tells himself and catches Jensen’s gaze before nodding his head. 

"M’okay, now. Thanks, man." Jensen sort of collapses on the floor beside the bed, but doesn’t take his hand off Jared’s thigh or chest. They stare at each other in silence until Jared has enough control and energy to speak. 

"M’sorry, Jen. I didn’t mean…" But Jensen just latches onto him and pulls him over into a bone crushing hug. 

"Just shut the fuck up, okay?" Jensen rasps, before moving in to crash hard onto Jared's mouth. 

Jared’s heart is double-tripping and he feels lightheaded, but not so much that he isn’t reciprocating. Between the drug and the adrenaline pumped through his body from fear of suffocation, Jared feels like he’s literally vibrating. 

He rolls off the bed, right onto Jensen, who expels a loud breath, but just wraps a leg around Jared’s waist and pulls him back down. The kiss is primal, sloppy and wet and Jared just wants to crawl inside of Jensen and never come out. He loves the feel of Jensen’s tongue in his mouth. Of his tongue sliding over Jensen’s teeth, tasting deeply of his unique flavors. 

"So sorry," he whispers against Jensen’s lips before moving down to bite over his collarbone until Jensen’s neck is marked with angry red points. "God, I never… Jen, you know…" 

"Yeah." Jensen’s petting Jared’s hair, then running fingers through its too-long length, tightening his hold when Jared shoves Jensen’s tee-shirt up under his arms and continues mapping across his chest and stomach with soft nips of his teeth. He stops long enough to yank the buttons open on Jensen’s jeans and open them enough to latch onto the pale flesh where leg joins body and proceeds to suck at the salt and dried sweat of the day. 

"Wanna suck your dick like this, Jen." Jared pulls his lips away with a soft pop and turns slightly to lick at the head of Jensen’s cock. They’ve both ditched their underwear days ago and neither one of them's at their cleanest, but that doesn’t deter his need to join himself to Jensen the only way he knows how. 

He can’t believe he hasn’t done this already. He’s lain with Jensen night after night, making out until he he's about to cream his pants like a kid and let Jensen bring him off, usually with his mouth, while Jared’s been content to just jack Jensen to completion before they both roll over spoon-like and fall into an exhausted sleep 

That is so not on, any more. 

Jared sucks in Jensen’s length until the spongy crown of his cock tickles at the back of his throat and he feels it start to rebel and close up. He pulls back up quickly and takes Jensen slower this time, flicking his tongue against and around the strange textures of puckered skin, smooth hardness and pulsing veins. 

Jensen is reduced to monosyllabic words such as _God_ and _yes!_ and _gnnngh_ , so Jared figures he’s doing something right. When Jensen’s fingers tighten in Jared’s hair until his eyes are watering, he pulls back until just the head of Jensen’s cock is in his mouth and sucks hard, like he’s trying to get the last bit of shake through the straw. 

Jensen trembles. "Jay, I’m comin’," isn’t even all the way out before Jared’s mouth is filling with the bitter-salt rush of Jensen’s come. 

At the first taste, Jared jerks back and watches the creamy spurts of come spilling over his hand while he strokes Jensen through his climax. When Jensen quiets and the only sound in the cabin is their chorus of ragged breathing, Jared licks into Jensen's mouth, enjoying the tiny tremors of aftershock. When even those have faded, Jared sits up and wipes his fingers roughly on the covers on the little bed next to them and looks down proudly at Jensen’s satisfied smile. 

"Figures." Jensen stretches long and lazy, groaning with pleasure. "We finally get a bed and still wind up having sex on the floor." 

Jared throws his head back and laughs, then pulls his shirt over his head and stands to shuck out of his jeans. He lies back down beside Jensen, who’s also wiggled out of his shambled clothing and pulls him in his arms. 

He wants to ask if it was good, but settles for nuzzling Jensen’s neck and mumbling, "Just wanted to taste you – be part of you." 

Jared feels Jensen smile against his side of his face. "Anytime you want, Big Jay." 

Neither one mentions Jared’s outburst that had started the whole anaphylactic episode, but Jared thinks maybe Jensen’s a bit wary, a bit _careful_ with him, the next morning when they fill their water bottles from an old pump behind the cabin and set off again, the sun heating the left sides of their faces with its warm rays. 

California. Jared’s never happier to _tread on me_ than that moment Jensen takes off running with a whoop, flinging the duffle onto the ground so he can jump up and slap the sign just coming into view. 

Jared gathers his shoulder-length hair back off his neck and jogs up beside him and can’t help grinning for the sheer joy of it. Then Jensen’s slapping his back and Jared’s turning into his arms and they’re kissing right there beside the highway under the rusty metal billboard that reads "WELCOME TO CALIFORNIA."


	4. Chapter 4

I

The sound of an air horn is so surreal on this two-lane road among the giant redwoods that Jared’s already pulled out of Jensen's arms and turned around before it really registers.

He has to edge sideways a step or two to see the flatbed headed north—towards them. At least half a dozen teenagers, all boys, all different colors, spill out of the cab and over the bed, swaying for balance. Squinting through the flyspecked windshield, Jensen judges the driver to be no more than eighteen or nineteen. 

Jensen’s not even thinking when he steps around and puts himself in front of Jared. He puts his hand in his back pocket where it’s just a couple of inches from the knife at his belt. He hears Jared shuffle his feet, shifting into a defensive stance to his left. Jensen knows he’s probably got his knife handy, as well, along with the prop gun. 

Jared leans over and softly says, "They’re just kids." 

Jensen just nods, not taking his eyes off the truck or its passengers for one second. 'Just kids' doesn't mean 'not dangerous'.

"Woo-hoo!" The truck shudders to a halt just a couple of feet from Jensen and Jared with a tired squeal of brakes. The front end is mangled heavily. Even stopped, the truck's still jouncing on its wheels with the bouncing, rowdy movement of the boys in the back. 

Jensen’s mouth goes dry and he licks his lips nervously when he sees at least three shotguns among the group. No telling how many other weapons they've got concealed. He takes a cautious step backwards and bumps right into Jared, who hasn't moved. 

And everybody's still just… _staring_.

Jensen’s about ready to either tell the kids to move off, or at least grab up his duffle and drag Jared off the road himself when Jared speaks up.

"Hey, man. What you guys up to?" Jared asks. Jensen's stomach lurches and he stares in disbelief at Jared's over-cheerful tone. _Dear sweet God, is he trying to get us killed?_ Jensen wraps his fingers around Jared’s wrist and squeezes hard enough to leave bruises. Jared gives him a fast _look_ before he simply tilts his head and smiles up at the guys in the truck.

Apparently, the boys are just as amazed at Jared's attitude as Jensen is. Six pairs of eyes study them narrowly and speculatively until the driver finally climbs down, followed by the three largest boys from the truck bed. Each one is holding a shotgun like they know just what to do with it.

"We were goin’ to ask you the same thing, buddy," the driver says and swaggers toward them. "What's going on?"

Jensen can’t believe this is happening. He can also see where it’s going, but it’s too late to walk away now.

"Look, man. We don’t want no trouble. Just trying to make our way down to San Fran." Jensen turns on The Smile, as bright and brilliant as he can, ignoring the itching crawl of sweat in his pits and down his back.

"We don't want no trouble neither," the leader says and spits through the gap in his teeth. He's a beefy kid, linebacker size, with an old, crumpled baseball cap turned backwards on his shaved head. His driving arm is pink with sunburn. "Just noticing your packs looked a might heavy."

"Hey," Jared says, stepping up next to Jensen. "It doesn't need to go down like this, guy. We're just trying to get home, not bothering anybody. We can both just go our own ways, no harm, no foul."

"Or," Shotgun Number One drawls, "you could shut the fuck up, put your shit down and maybe live to tell the tale."

"Look—" Jensen starts…when someone hits him on the head from behind. 

He's not out for long; whoever slammed him must not've had his heart in it, or else Jensen's as hard headed as his mama always said. Either way, he wakes up on the ground, breathing in dust while someone's got a knee between his shoulder blades. They're tying his hands, rough rope scraping into his skin. His legs are still loose, but someone's sitting on them. Jensen doesn't wiggle too much yet, still trying to figure it out. 

"Naw, man; I fucking found it, it's mine!"

"You goddamn pussy, you wouldn't even know what to _do_ with that; cut yer own dick off!"

Close by, a couple guys are squabbling over Jensen's knife. In the background he can hear Jared shouting ( _Thank you, God_ ), the sound of several people scuffling in the dirt. The noises fade in and out with his jagged, crazy pulse; nausea comes in waves too and he fights it down. _They saw us kissing, they had to've,_ he thinks, chafing his wrists against his bonds and pissed that he let his guard down that much. _Question is, what're they going to do about it?_

Jensen thinks he really doesn't want the answer to that question.

They should've run when they'd had the chance. He'd been stupid, not paranoid enough, lulled by the relative peace of their journey and now Jared—both of them—might end up paying the price. If anything, that thought makes his heart hammer even faster. Ever since Jared got sick, he's been so careful, or tried to be. Keeping Jared safe gives him something to focus on, a clear and close-set goal. He can't think too much ahead; things are moving too fast, too chaotic, he can't get a handle on them. Jared—helping Jared, being there, watching and watching over him—is what helps him keep it together. He needs to keep it together.

"Just take it, man. Take all of it, take anything you want—"

Jensen hears the meaty thud of fists on flesh; Jared's voice cuts off suddenly. 

_Jared._ Jensen bucks and whoever it is on his back presses down harder, driving the breath out of him. "Hold still, _maricon_ ," a voice growls in his ear. A moment later, spit runs down the side of his neck, warm and disgusting.

"Motherfucker," Jensen snarls and starts kicking and fighting in earnest. Rough hands grab him, flip him on his back. His middle finger gets bent the wrong way, the ropes dig into his wrists again. Grit gets swept into his eyes and as he tries to blink it away, one of his attackers punches him across the jaw and someone else kicks him in the ribs. Jensen grunts, tasting blood.

_"…the fuck are we doing, man? I thought we were just gonna rob them. I didn't sign up for this…"_

_"Yo, chill man; they're just blowing off a little steam"_.

_"Chuck, dude…I don't know about this either. This… They weren't hurtin' nobody, man…"_

Another kick to the ribs and Jensen half-rolls onto his side, trying to curl up. Through a forest of legs, he glimpses Jared for the first time, struggling between two guys. Blood's trickling from Jared's nose.

 _"Jensen?"_ Jared sounds strange, muffled. "Jen?!" He breaks off in a fit of coughing, harsh and ugly. After a moment, Jared whoops for breath and then coughs some more.

"Jared!" Jensen curls away from the second kick to his side, tries to orient himself, figure out what to do, how to move. "Jared!"

_"Shit, he's sick!"_

"Oh, fuck!"

"Lookit! He's all kinds of fucked up."

"…It's the flu, man, I seen it…."

"Yo man, I'm not catching no bird flu! I'm out!"

Jared's coughing turns liquid, strained. _Shit_. He's having an attack. He's having an _attack_.

"It's not the flu!" Jensen tries to say, his skin crawling at the echo of the murdered man in Canada. His mouth is filled with blood and dust and his words only come out in mushy syllables that make no sense.

 _God, I know I've been asking you for a lot lately, but I need you now—really need you—because if anything happens…_ Jensen can't even finish the thought. Instead, he turns his panic into action, drawing his knees back and pistoning out with them. He catches one kid in the shoulder, shoves him away and down into the gravel of the roadside. The other kid, dodges aside, but instead of coming back at Jensen, he rabbits, running back towards the truck.

They're all scrambling for the truck now. Jensen forgets all about them the second he realizes they're fleeing and slither-crawls for Jared, curled up and wheezing. "Jay?" He hates the way his voice quavers. _Strong. You need to be strong. Pull it together, Ackles._ "Jared."

Jared looks up and Jensen has a second to see his red, pained, watering eyes before the truck's tires squeal and kick up a cloud of floury dust over them both. Jensen starts choking and coughing himself; his eyes burn and tear. He feels lightheaded as he rolls onto his side, uses his bound hands to push himself up enough to get his feet under him.

He staggers the few steps to where the boys abandoned their luggage and drops down again, almost on top of Jared's pack. He's pawed through the contents in the dark enough that he should be able to do it with his hands tied behind his back. Jensen closes his eyes and tries to see with his fingers, while Jared's breath gets louder and more labored.

 _Ink pen, rolled Ace bandage, cigarette lighter… Hold on, Jay, I'm working on it; just hang on a little while longer, hang on…_ They've only got a couple of the pens left anyway; Jensen can't even think about what they're going to do if those kids pocketed them or scattered them into the grass without knowing what they're for or how vital they are. "I'm comin', Jay; coming fast as I can. Just breathe, okay? Just breathe."

_Find it. **Find it, Ackles.** It's here. It's got to be here, you just have to find it before Jared fucking well suffocates_

_Don't die, Jared. Please don't die._

His fingertips skate across the milled edged of an Epipen. Jensen snatches it up and hump-crawls across the asphalt to Jared. He turns the pen frantically in his fingers, the bones of his wrists protesting as they flex against the rope, but he can't thumb the cap off. There's also no way in hell he's going to be able to inject Jared like this.

"Jay, you gotta help me." Jensen barely recognizes his own voice, hoarse, even deeper than when he'd pitch it for Dean's voice. He falls half-on Jared, trying to make sure it's on his friend's hip and not his stomach. Jared's hand flutters weakly against Jensen's fingertips; Jensen pushes the pen firm as he can into Jared's grip. "I can't get the cap off. Jay. _Jay._ " 

"Gnngh." Jared shifts in a dry rattle of small stones and grit.

"Jared." The tightness in his chest aches worse than where they punched him, kicked him. He cranes to look over his shoulder. Jared's skin's turning blue, making the red around his eyes and nose all the more vivid. Jensen tries to catch Jared's eyes with his own. "Jay, you can do this. I need you to do this. Uncap the pen."

Jared tries to nod, his whole body shaking with the desperate need to breathe. He fumbles the Epipen and Jensen's heart stutters a beat until Jared catches it again, clumsily works the cap off. It drops with a soft click of plastic on stone.

"Good," Jensen breathes, "that's real good, Jay. Now you gotta stick yourself. Do it hard; you've got to get it through the skin. Do it, Jay. C'mon. You can do this. I'm right here. Your lower stomach or your hip. Do it."

Jared's hand is shaking so hard, Jensen doesn't really feel confident that Jared's going to be able to do it after all. Jared shifts again, trying to shove his shirts out of the way. When he puts the pen against his skin, Jensen pushes up and then falls back onto his friend, their combined effort driving the needle into the skin until Jensen hears the soft click of the spring-loaded needle. He holds his breath, the pen jabbing into his wrist and kidney as it delivers the drug into Jared's body.

_Please, Jared. Jared, please…_

_"Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of they womb, Jesus..."_

Jared gasps, loud, desperate. 

Jensen's breath sobs out of him; he lets himself fall sideways a little so the pen isn't digging into them both, panting and gasping in time with his friend. He turns his face into Jared's thigh, his eyes burning hot and his throat tight with too much panic, too much adrenaline.

 _I love you,_ he thinks, though he doesn't know _how_ he means it exactly. _Don't die,_ he thinks a second later.

"We're okay," he says aloud, his voice quavering and shaking almost uncontrollably on those few syllables and slowly—too slowly—Jared's hand finds its way onto Jensen's shoulder and squeezes.

II

Jared sprawls under Jensen, eyes closed, thinking over and over, _"Thank you God, thank you God, thank you God."_

Once it doesn’t hurt to draw in a breath and let it out, he shifts his right hip up, nudging Jensen. His hand moves up from Jensen’s shoulder, into his hair, letting his fingers scratch lightly beneath the dirty strands to scalp below. Idly, Jared realizes he's never seen Jensen’s hair this long. It must be driving him crazy. 

Jensen's face smashes tighter into Jared's leg.

When Jensen finally rolls off, Jared tests his legs, which were starting to go numb. Jensen sits up, his back to Jared, and wiggles his fingers. "Untie me." 

They took his knife off him; Jared fumbles with the knots, his fingers almost as useless as his legs. When Jared’s done, Jensen massages the circulation slowly back into each wrist. Jared winces at the red, swollen flesh, abraded by dirt and rope.

Jensen reaches out and touches Jared’s leg, then moves his hands up, skimming over his stomach where the tiny mark from the pen is still visible. Jared lets him, stomach muscles shivering at the contact. 

"You okay?" Jared barely recognizes Jensen’s voice. 

He opens his mouth to answer and the words catch before they get to his tongue. Jared clears his throat and tries again, but the best he can manage is a hoarse whisper. "Yeah, m’okay now."

Jared licks his lips and Jensen’s immediately casting around for the water bottle. Miraculously, it’s still strapped to Jared’s backpack. Even though the water within's piss-warm, the blessed wetness is welcome. Jared swishes it around in his parched mouth and spits before gulping thirstily.

When he’s had enough, Jensen takes the bottle back and drains the rest himself. "I hear water close by. We can refill everything before we leave." 

Jared nods, still not sure he can talk right. He tries to sit up and Jensen’s right there, pressing firmly at his shoulder, pressing him down again. "Don’t."

But Jared’s becoming more aware of his surroundings and the warm, heavy feel of wet denim at his crotch makes him wrinkle his nose in disgust.

"Dude, I have _got_ to go wash up. I’m gross." Jared waves down below his waist, too embarrassed to explain. He feels the heat of a blush starting at his hairline and rolls over, hiding his face in his crossed arms. Even with his eagerness to get up and wash, he feels content to just lie on the ground another moment, collecting himself.

"Jay… It's all right. I understand." Jensen’s reply is soft, and even the humiliating sweet-ammonia smell that is starting to waft up around them can’t stop Jared from moaning in relief when Jensen's hands make brisk, soothing circles across his back and up to his shoulders. 

He hears Jensen snort. "You know, I was about this close to pissing myself, too, man. Never thought I'd be thanking God for your allergies, but that attack of yours saved our asses. Those fuckers were whacked."

Jared pushes himself up to his elbows. "I know. That’s why I did it." 

As soon as he rolls over and sees the look on Jensen’s face, Jared knows he’s made a mistake. 

"You… you did it?" Jensen lips are a pale tight line across his face, his eyes narrow.

Jared gets up and starts scuffing through the area that contains everything they have in the world, now scattered and dirty, some of it probably unusable. Anything to get out of range of that accusing stare. 

But there’s no escaping Jensen or his ire. "What the fuck, Jared!"

Jared tenses when he feels Jensen’s grip on his shoulder, trying to turn him around to face him. After a second, Jared jerks loose and wheels around to face the music. 

"Yeah, well… I sort of… I… I didn’t know it was going to be that bad. It didn't feel like it was going to be... But they were scared. Bunch of them just wanted our stuff, get the hell out of here. I thought. I thought if I started coughing, coughing the way that always makes it worse and sort of… encouraged it, then maybe..." 

Jared chews his lower lip and looks down, then back up at Jensen, determined to make him understand. "It was the only shot we had, Jen. The scared ones weren't going to speak up. Not in any serious way. And those other guys…they were going to kill us. Just leave us dead beside the road." He hears his voice rising, chest tightening up at the memory.

"I wasn’t going to stand there and watch them beat you to death." Jared refused to turn away when he felt the hot sting of tears welling up behind his eyes, soaking his lashes. 

He waits for Jensen to say something. Say _anything_. Instead, Jen just stands there, toe-to-toe with Jared and the only visible sign of what he’s thinking is the muscle pulsing at his jaw. Jared recalls how Jensen used to make it do that when Dean was upset, too. This time, he's pretty sure it's not just an act, though.

"Please. Understand." Jared sucks in a breath and turns to walk away when Jensen finally decides to speak.

"You stupid-ass, mother fucking, son-of-a bitch," he hisses. Jared turns back and takes a step away, startled by shivering fury he reads on Jensen’s face. Jensen’s so mad he’s _crying_. 

"Don’t you know…" Jensen cuts himself off, shakes his head. "Just… don’t you leave me to do this alone. Don’t you dare! God, that has to be the stupidest damn fool thing I've ever seen you do.

"What if I couldn’t get the pen to you in time? What if I’d been unconscious? What if you were too far gone to _use_ the fucking pen? So, just don’t even…." Jensen sniffs and juts his chin out, lips squaring hard. "Do you understand, Jared?"

Jared nods slowly, but apparently it’s not enough. Jensen closes the gap between them and digs his fingers into Jared’s muddy, bloodstained shirt. "Do. You. Understand?" Jensen spits the words out and Jared feels the spray on his face, but doesn’t know the words to make things right. He can only meet Jen's eyes and nod again. When Jensen looks somewhat satisfied, Jared wipes his nose with the back of his shirt sleeve and pulls out of Jensen’s grasp.

"I’m gonna clean up."

Jensen’s hands drop to his side and Jared leaves him standing there as he makes his way to the water he can hear now, as well.

Jensen might be pissed as hell at him, but as sorry as he feels about scaring Jen, he's not sorry for doing it. Jensen’s alive. They both are. Jared feels a shiver run the length of his spine at the memory of Jensen, pressed face tight to the ground, blood everywhere and unable to fight back. He remembers the faces of the boys that had held him down and hurt him, the look in their eyes. 

_Not gonna let anything happen to him_ he reiterates to himself with a shake of his head.

It's never been so clear to Jared that he will do anything. _Anything_ to keep Jensen from getting hurt…or worse. He'd barely registered it when they'd punched him in the gut, but he'd felt each one of the kicks and punches they threw at Jensen. And then he felt the breathless ache in his lungs, the drawing tightness of his throat that always signaled one of his allergy attacks. 

_Draw their attention away from Jensen_ had been his first thought, followed closely by his plan to try and scare the shit out of them. Thank God, they’d reacted just as he hoped.

And now Jensen was mad. But alive. He could live with that.

III

The growing roar of rushing water is much louder than a creek or river. Jared steps into a clearing and just stands staring at the waterfall tucked into the side of the rocks, surrounded by trees taller than the cliff.

The water’s as close to heaven as Jared thinks he’s ever been. Not like they hadn’t come across streams and crossed rivers the last few days, but the serenity surrounding the waterfall and the pool below it is like a balm to his bruised and battered body. From here, you wouldn't know anything was wrong in the outside world. You wouldn't know that he and Jensen had almost died less than a hundred yards away.

Jared strips. He grimaces at his tee-shirt, which had been practically ripped off in the struggle. It's a lost cause. He drops it in the water, watching the red tendrils of blood sifting out of the cloth and scrubs his jeans and over shirt in the pool. He scrambles up the rocks and lays them out in the sun to dry.

Jensen doesn't come down and if he squints up, through the trees, he can see him pacing, agitated and stiff, just where he can look down and watch Jared too.

Jared’s standing directly under the waterfall, eyes closed and just letting the water beat down on him when Jensen finally joins him. Jared doesn't know whether to be surprised or worried he hadn’t heard Jen coming and curiously enough, Jensen’s touch at the small of his back doesn't make him jump. 

Jared just stands still, feeling the water sluice over his shoulders, down his chest and back. And then, through the water, Jensen touching him. 

Jensen tugs Jared's shoulders, pulling him back until they’re out of direct shot of the pounding falls. When Jared tries to turn and face him, though, Jensen just murmurs, "No," holding Jared in place. Jared nods and braces himself with one arm on the sun-warmed rocks and arches back, enjoying the feel of Jensen’s hands on him and the stretch of sore muscles. 

When Jensen leans in and replaces the hand at Jared’s neck with his mouth, the earlier trauma seems like it happened in the distant past. He thinks Jensen is mouthing words against his shoulder, but he could just be kissing him. Jared sighs and relaxes, relieved that Jensen’s fuse has burnt itself out. 

"Need to touch you, Jay. Need to feel you whole." The words go straight to Jared’s dick and make him lean his head backwards on Jensen’s shoulder. 

Callused hands stroke under Jared’s arms and down his sides. Jared feels his whole body loosen and liquefy when Jensen reaches around and tickles fingers through his curly pubic hairs, Jared's cock rising to meet him. But, when he tries to turn in Jensen’s embrace, he’s stopped again, so relaxes and enjoys being caressed and petted. The slow, easy strokes along his dick almost make Jared purr, headache easing.

His cock distinctly misses the touch when Jensen shifts to run his nails lightly up and down Jared’s sides again before settling over his ass, thumbs massaging easy patterns along Jared’s flank. 

Jared’s eyes pop open and his slack-loosened body tenses automatically when he feels those wonderful fingers slide slowly, tentatively between his legs. Nonetheless, Jared takes a wider stance and wills himself to just calm the fuck down. _Gonna figure out what’s it like sooner or later._.

He thinks about Jensen, what Jensen looks like when Jared's fingers are touching him, inside him, the gasping pleasure that transforms Jensen's face. It looks so good when it's Jensen; he needs to just remember that.

He feels Jensen kneel behind him but it’s not the blunt tips of Jensen’s fingers that slide between his parted cheeks. Wet heat swipes lovingly against him, pressing a question to his puckered flesh. It's so unexpected that Jared jumps, a shudder running ticklish and pleasurable from his toes to the crown of his head.

"Jen…" he sighs shakily. He trusts Jensen. More than ever, he trusts Jensen. Jared reaches behind to lay a hand against the side of Jensen’s face in silent permission to proceed.

He can’t even stop the gasp that escapes when Jensen’s tongue begins to beg entrance, curling into a tight, hard muscle used to batter at Jared’s defenses. When he can finally make the ring of muscles relax, the slow slide inside almost brings him to his knees and Jared has to use both hands to brace himself against the rocks alongside the waterfall. The noise he makes echoes back and a moment later, he feels Jensen chuckle against him. 

Jensen’s nose nudges at his crease, fingers pulling him open. It feels like Jensen’s whole face is buried between Jared’s legs and he’s being kissed and licked and sucked in the most amazing and unthinkable ways. He shifts to keep himself from falling down from the pure pleasure of it and his dick knocks against his belly like a reminder. 

Adjusting his stance to be supported by one arm, Jared reaches down and begins to jack his cock in a firm, determined rhythm. His hand, Jensen’s tongue, even his breath, seem to work as one and Jared’s body settles into the erotic flow. 

Jared squeezes himself and ups the speed of his strokes when Jensen goes back to tonguing his hole. Orgasm tugs at his balls, making his toes curl into the slippery, algae covered bedrock.

"Jensen?" He's so close and he doesn't know what Jensen wants from this. "Jen?"

Jensen's thumbs soothe against his skin. _It's okay._

Jared moans, strangled, and jerks on his dick hard, once, twice before come fountains over his hands onto the rocks below. He tenses his glutes, overcome, and Jensen pulls back slightly and slows the sweep of his tongue. By the time Jared sags limply against the rocks, Jensen is on his feet, arms wrapped loosely around Jared’s waist.

They stand on the periphery of the waterfall entwined--Jared’s breathing harsh and labored--while Jensen soothes him with soft kisses to his neck and shoulders. When Jared’s finally permitted to turn around, he reaches automatically for Jensen because his mama raised him right and there's an etiquette to these things.

To his surprise, Jensen's only half-hard, velvet softness against Jared's pruned fingers. Jensen's cock twitches a little at his touch, but Jen puts his hand over Jared's and stops him from doing more than cupping. "Hey," Jared says, his voice quavering a bit over the word. "Did I… Was I…?" He doesn't even know to be offended or hurt or what.

Jensen shakes his head. "No, it's okay. I just… I just wanted to touch you. It was just you."

"But I could…?" Jared offers, stroking his thumb across Jen's balls.

Jensen leans in and kisses him, like none of their other kisses, his mouth slow and lingering. Jared lets go of Jensen's cock to caress Jensen’s face and smooth the hair at his temple back with his thumbs. When their mouths let go, Jensen leans his head against Jared's shoulder.

"Don’t leave." Jensen’s voice sounds choked and harsh, despite it's quietness. "Don’t leave me, Jay." 

Jared shushes him with soft words of reassurance. "Not gonna, Jen. Together. It’s you and me, together."

IV

While their clothes dry, they put on their shoes and go, half-naked, to scavenge through and repack their stuff. Their belongings are scattered across a twenty foot area of dirt and rocks. 

"God, this sucks." Jared spits as he squats down to pick up the crushed cylinder of their last Epipen. Just knowing he doesn’t have it any longer makes him start to breathe fast and shallow, but he calms it down and stands to toss the cracked plastic instrument into the brush. 

"We’ll find some more. We’ll be in Frisco in a couple of days. All we have to do is make sure you don’t have any bad ones till then. There’s bound to be someone who can help us there." 

Jared notes the _we_ and hides a small smile. Something’s changed in their relationship – well, besides the sex. Something’s shifted and Jared isn’t sure what it means. He does know it’s going to take more than a bunch of punk-ass feral brats to separate him and Jensen. _Together._

They manage to salvage all that’s fit to keep by the time Jared’s jeans are dry enough to wear. Jensen tears up the tee-shirt Jared was wearing and hands him a strip to tie his hair back. It’s actually long enough that Jared can pull it into a ponytail. He glares at Jensen, daring him to give him shit about it. 

Jensen just shrugs, smiles and ties another band around his forehead to keep all the hair he’s not used to having from falling into his eyes.

The sun is setting by the time they’re geared up and for the first time, Jensen doesn’t say anything about traveling at night. Jared hitches the backpack to a more comfortable position and follows Jensen into the woods. They won’t be traveling on roads anymore.

Two days later, they’re stopped in Petaluma, sharing coffee with a band of gypsies heading north—which still sounds all kinds of weird to Jared’s brain—when they get the next bad news. 

San Francisco is trashed. 

Jared can see the fires on the Golden Gate Bridge from his vantage point. He casts a look at Jensen, seated next to him at the fire. Jensen shakes his head.

Jen tosses the dregs of his coffee cup into the fire and stands. He nods at the leader of the group. "We better get moving, guys. Appreciate the grub." Jared can’t remember when Jensen stopped worrying about sounding like a sophisticated city boy, stopped hiding his drawl, but the difference is noticeable.

Jared stands beside him, hands Jensen the duffle and shoulders the backpack. There’s still about three hours of daylight and they need to figure out a new route down to LA. 

That night, after Jensen's scouted their back trail a couple times to make sure no one's following them, they curl up in the shadow of a pretty big boulder and revise their plans.

"If we cut across Lakeville Highway here, and take these side streets, we can detour around San Fran and pick up I-80 going south." Jensen's fingers trace their route on the battered and weather-stained map.

Jared nods. "And then we can pick up 680 to the 580/205 until it takes us to the 5," he agrees. 

"And that'll take us all the way into L.A." Jensen rubs his eyes tiredly. "Yeah. This is still totally workable. I was a little nervous about going through the city anyway. I hope Kate and them made it out okay."

Kate was an old friend of Jensen's and the main reason they decided to go through San Francisco in the first place; see if they could find her, get news and maybe some help. That part's pretty much scrapped now, but the road isn't closed to them and that's the important thing.

The other important thing is that Jared hasn’t had another severe attack. On the contrary, Jared feels better than he has since they left Vancouver. Jared knows it's not going to last, but it is one less thing for them to worry about.

"Hey." Jared bumps Jensen with his shoulder until Jen looks at him. "We're okay. We're still okay."

"Yeah." Jensen ducks his head but he nudges Jared back. "We're doing fine."


	5. Chapter 5

I

"Jared." Jensen winces as he touches the back of his head. When he looks at his fingertips, there's a smear of blood on his fingers. Quickly he wipes his hand on his jeans, before Jared sees. "I'm okay. I'm fine."

"You're _concussed_ ," Jared insists.

"You don't know that."

"Jen…you hit your head. In the same place that fucking kid hit you. You look _stoned_." Jared roots around in the pack stiffly, his jaw tight. "You're fucking well concussed." He comes up with a bottle of water and starts pouring it over one of the rags torn from his ruined tee-shirt. 

"Hey, don't waste it!" Jensen protests, reaching. Jared jerks it all away, spilling even more water.

"Shut up." Jared's voice is flat, bordering on angry. He's been like this ever since Jensen stepped wrong and went tumbling down the steep incline to the rough ground below. "You don't…" Jared's lips flatten and widen, thin lines carve from his nostrils to his mouth. "You're bleeding."

Jared gets up onto his knees and shifts around behind Jensen, parting his hair and dabbing with the wet rag. 

"No, what were you going to say?" Jensen grits his teeth as Jared hits a particularly tender spot on his skull. "Spit it out, Jay."

Jared takes a loud breath. "Naw. Whatever. Doesn't matter."

"If you have something to say, then fucking say it, man. What?"

"You don't get to be the only one who cares, Jen."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Jensen tries to twist around but Jared clamps one giant paw to either side of his head and holds him in place. 

"It means… Okay, I'm sick. I know that. I know that you worry about me. But I worry too. Jesus. When you went down like that…"

"I'm fine," Jensen says again.

"You're _concussed,_ " Jared repeats. "Your brain could be bleeding into your skull for all we know."

"I didn't hit myself that hard." Jensen pulls out of Jared's grip, ignoring the dizziness that swamps him at the gesture. He puts out one hand to steady himself and doesn't look Jared in the eyes. "And I can bleed into my skull just as well five miles down the road as I can here."

"That's not funny."

Jensen takes a deep breath, but it doesn't help. "I'm not being funny," he growls, hand fisting in the dry, brittle grass. His knuckles are scraped too, raw and red. He doesn't even want to contemplate infection. "What the fuck do you want me to do about it, Jared?"

 _"I want you to sit the fuck down for five goddamned minutes and stop trying to pretend you're okay!"_ Jared roars, jerking Jensen back by his shoulder. Jensen's equilibrium is still fragile; it pulls him off balance and he falls back into Jared.

"Hey!" The sound of a new voice calling down to them makes Jensen freeze. He feels Jared stiffen behind him at the same time and reaches back for his friend.

"Jared, get me up," he says roughly, groping his way up Jared's forearm, trying to get his leaden feet under him. "Get me up!"

"Hey down there!" A woman, with a walking stick taller than she is, waves at them from the roadway. Her floppy hat shadows her face and hides her age. Four people behind her, all backlit in the same way, but two of them are carrying shotguns and Jensen doesn't need to see them lit from the front to know that. "Y'all right?"

Jared helps him up and the world swings crazily around him. Jared's arm tightens, holding him up, pressing him into Jared's side. "Yeah, we're fine!" he shouts up anyway.

"Fine?" Jared mutters, turning his head to look at Jensen. "We're not fine, Jen."

"We're fine enough," Jensen hisses back, but the woman is already carefully picking her way down the slope, leaning carefully on her staff. The other four leap after her like they're startled, like they didn't expect her to come down to them.

"Jay, we should go," Jensen says, pushing back into Jared's body. He really does feel unsteady on his feet and he wishes he could think clearly through the deep-seated throb in his head.

"Jensen, you're hurt and we've got nowhere to go," Jared points out, hands on either of Jensen's arm, support and shackle both. "Besides, look at her. She's old enough to be your…okay, well, _my_ mom."

"The two with guns aren't," Jensen says. As she gets closer, Jensen can see that the woman in the lead is gray haired and wrinkled, with bright white teeth in nut-brown skin. She looks more like someone's aunt than someone's mom.

"Hello!" she says again brightly. "Do you need some help?"

One of her four guardians, a plump woman with curly black hair, jumps down the last few feet of the slope to catch up and grabs the Aunt by the arm. The two with shotguns—teenagers, boy and girl—bring them up to bear on Jared and Jensen. The young woman hisses in the older woman's ear, too soft for Jensen to hear more than the buzzing annoyance of her tone.

"Naw, we're all right," Jensen answers carefully, his eyes flicking from the woman to the guns and then finally back up to the hulking guy who stayed up on the roadway. 

Jared's knee presses into the back of Jensen's thigh in pointed protest; Jensen ignores it. 

"Tyler, Luis! You point those guns somewhere else, right this second!" the Aunt scolds.

"Actually, we could use a hand, if you're offering," Jared says at close to the same moment and if he wasn't so busy hanging onto Jared for dear life, Jensen would've kicked him. "My friend's a little banged up here."

Jensen lifts his foot and steps on Jared's toe. Jared's knee jabs him again in counterargument. The shotgun kids—Tyler and Luis—look uneasy about it, glancing at the younger, curly-haired woman, but they shift the barrels of their shotguns away so they're pointing towards the ground.

"I'm very sorry," the Aunt says, tipping her hat back onto her neck. "The children, they mean well." Thick sprigs of her hair spring up from the main, braided mass, white, silver, iron and black. She rakes them back carelessly and squints. "Dangerous times, no?"

"You said it," Jensen agrees, cautiously.

"You boys armed?"

"No," Jared answers before Jensen can decide whether to lie.

"You sick?"

"No," Jensen answers.

"Allergies," Jared answers right behind him. Jensen turns his head to glare and Jared gives him the wide-eyed _what?_ look.

"Nothing contagious." Jensen looks back to the group again.

"I don't like it," the curly-haired woman says, her lips pressed thin. Jensen agrees with her.

"You don't like anything, Emily," the Aunt chides, never taking her eyes off him and Jared. She tilts her head, dark eyes sparkling. "Think you boys can walk a bit? It's just a couple miles to Dos Palos."

II

"Jared, what the hell are we doing?" Jensen hisses as Jared helps him up the incline. "We don't even know these people."

"Jen, if they wanted to rob us or kill us, they could have done that already. I'm not comfortable trying to travel with you all fucked up."

Jensen grits his teeth. "For the last time, I'm _not_ all fucked up!"

It probably would have come out better if his boot hadn't slipped on the brittle-slick grass, forcing Jared to catch him. Jared gives him the _yeah, what?_ bitchface and half-drags Jensen the rest of the way. 

_Well, God, if you had to make him handsome and annoying at least you also made him strong. Thank you for that. Your son, Jensen._

III

"You boys look like you've come a long way," the Aunt—who introduced herself at Betty—observes. Behind them, the others fume at him and Jared, at Betty, at the slow pace. Jensen's walking under his own power, but none too fast, and Jared keeps touching the small of his back with one hand. He won't let Jensen carry the duffle either. "It's a bad time to travel."

"Don't have much of a choice." Jared ducks his head and Jensen tries to tell if Jared sounds wheezier than he did a few minutes before. 

"Everybody's got a choice."

"Yeah, well…sometimes all your choices are bad ones," Jensen chimes in, struggling not to put an edge on his voice. Mostly he succeeds. Mostly.

Betty sighs. "True enough. True enough." For a while, there's only the tap of her walking stick on the pavement and the raucous caw of birds. Jared's fingertips press briefly against Jensen's back. Checking in.

"Why are you doing this?" Jensen asks Betty suddenly, earning a growl of disapproval from Emily behind him. "You don't know us. We could be out to hurt you, rob you…"

"Son, you can barely walk a straight line," Betty chuckles, patting him gently on the shoulder. "I doubt you're going to be robbing anyone tonight. And tomorrow…well. We'll see. Where you boys heading to?"

"Texas, eventually," Jensen answers, letting his drawl come out full-color and giving Jared the _if you don't shut up…_ warning glare.

Betty draws up short, stopping in the middle of the highway and planting her walking stick on the asphalt with a wooden clunk. "Look. Son. I can look at the two of you and see you've had a rough time of it." Jensen's face ducks like he's trying to hide the bruises still smudging his jaw. And maybe he is. "But…we're not going to hurt you. I'm not asking you to trust me, because that's just…well, foolish. But you can listen to me when I tell you. Not everyone in this world is like…a feral dog that's forgotten its manners. Some of us still remember how to be human. It hasn't been that long."

"Feels like it sometimes," Jared says and Jensen's hands twitch towards fists then relax.

Betty sighs again, pulls a bottle of water from the pocket of her enormous, wide pants and takes a long, thirsty gulp. After she wipes her mouth and the lip of the bottle with her sleeve, she offers it to them. Jared takes some. Jensen doesn't.

"Thank you," he says anyway and means it.

IV

"Buck was a sight bigger than you," Emily says, shaking out the flannel shirt. She holds it up between her and Jensen and squints. "But I guess too big is better than too small, yeah?"

"Why are you doing this?" Jensen asks again. He doesn't ask what happened to Buck. 

_New etiquette for a new world, eh?_

Through the bedroom's open door he can see Jared in the kitchen with the girl Tyler and another one of Betty's strays that he can't remember by name. The house is full of them, all ages, colors, backgrounds. But even though he's not used to being around so many people—and he never liked crowds—Jensen finds himself relaxing a little. Just a little.

Tyler says something and Jared flings back his head and laughs. The sound of it booms off the white-painted walls, heartfelt and loud. Jensen keeps his voice pitched soft, just between them.

"Truth?" Emily lets the shirt dangle from one hand and rubs her eyes tiredly with the other. Though her face is round-cheeked, Jensen thinks he can see the signs of weight quickly lost. He doesn't know how to feel about that. Should he feel better or worse that it wasn't done for a role or an act? "Because Betty said so."

Jensen nods and holds his hand out for the shirt. The other clothes they produced for him—jeans, tee-shirt, boxers—lay on the bed; a sight that should be commonplace and now feels like the greatest of Christmas miracles. They're all used, old and worn with hard wear but they're clean and whole and Jensen's grateful.

"Look, I don't doubt you and your boy are nice folks…" Jensen tries not to read too much into Emily calling Jared his 'boy', tries not to bridle and snap. "…but we're just struggling along our ownselves."

"And you don't need us taking up your wash water and food and clothes," Jensen concludes, scratching the back of his neck. His head still aches but he feels steadier on his feet and he's not getting dizzy with every few steps. 

Emily shakes her head. "It's not you," she admits, her lips uncompressing. Even before Jared, she wasn't his type, but she's got a pretty mouth, lush and dark, and gorgeous eyes. "It's just… I love Betty like she was my own mama, but she just… She can't save everybody. And we can't take in every stray that comes up the highway."

"No," Jensen agrees. He looks down the hallway again, catches Jared looking at him. The side of Jared's mouth crooks up in a smile and Jensen feels it, like a hand on his chest. "But you just can't tell some people anything."

Emily turns and follows his gaze. Jared waves at her, in full cute-puppy mode. She waves back and the lines around her eyes—just starting to etch deep—unpucker. "Ain't it the truth," she answers fervently and she's got a faint smile on her face too when she looks at Jensen again. She flaps a hand at his new clothes. "Come on. I'll get you a towel and some soap, let you get cleaned up before supper's on."

V

"See?" Jared smells of toothpaste, soap and the honey aroma of the salve Emily made them put on their bruises when he slips into the cool-sheeted bed next to Jensen. "They're good people, Jen. We're safe here."

Jensen thinks about arguing the point with Jared—they didn’t _know_ Betty and her followers were 'good people' when they met up on the road—but the truth is that he's exhausted, warm and sleepy with a belly full of more, better food than they've had in months. Sucking Jared's cock is about the extent of his ambition for the night, not starting yet another fight about Jared's over-trusting nature. "Yeah, Jay. They are."

Jared bends, his shaggy head blotting out the moonlight as his mouth travels lightly from Jensen's ear, across his cheek and down to Jensen's lips. At the same time, Jared's palm spreads low over Jensen's bare belly, heel pressing into his skin.

Jensen's breath hisses out of him faintly. He wants this; wanted to have his hands on Jared pretty much all day. So when he feels Jared start to pull back, he reaches up and tangles his fingers in the freshly washed mop of Jared's hair, producing a faint whiff of White Rain shampoo and a quiet groan. Jensen shifts on the mattress, curving toward Jared, slipping his left arm under and around Jared's body to tug him closer.

Jared moves against him, a slow body-roll that grinds them together everywhere their skin touches. 

"Jen." Jared pulls away suddenly; Jensen blinks up at him, fingers tightening in Jared's hair involuntarily to keep him going any further away. "Should we…? Now? I mean…"

"We can be quiet." Jensen considers. "Okay, _I_ can be quiet." Jared snorts and punches Jensen's shoulder in mock offense. Jensen grabs Jared's wrist and squeezes. They sort of arm wrestle for dominance for a moment until the bed squeaks against the floor and Jared freezes again. "They gave us a room with one bed, Jay. I think they've figured out the whole 'gay for each other' part."

"Yeah, guess." Jared's hips slip against Jensen's again, slow and languid and the friction goes straight to Jensen's cock. "I just…Betty reminds me of my aunt or something." He ducks his head into the space between Jensen's shoulder and jaw and flicks his tongue against the skin. "Mmmm. Forgot what you feel like without stubble."

"Give it a couple hours," Jensen chuckles. They'd only had a handful of disposable razors between the two of them and they were all worn down to almost uselessness. Jensen's 5 o'clock shadow is a formidable opponent. He wiggles deeper into the mattress and spreads his legs, tugging and coaxing Jared on top. "C'mon, Jay. Let me suck you."

Jared groans against Jensen's neck, pushing his face tighter to the skin to muffle it. His fingers clutch involuntarily and the nails scratch in the hairs on Jensen's lower belly, not quite tickling. Jensen smoothes his hand from Jared's thick-muscled shoulder down the deep curving arc of his back before palming and kneading Jared's strong, lean flank.

"I was…" Jared's head comes up and Jensen's eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough that he can make out the liquid gleam of Jared's eyes as they flicker. "I was thinking…"

"I hope you didn't hurt yourself." Jensen grins and squeezes Jared's thigh.

"Bitch," Jared replies without heat. "No. I was just thinking…today was a really good day—"

"Barring my concussion."

"Jen." Jared's fingers brush over Jensen's mouth, stilling him. Patiently, he repeats, "It was a good day."

"Mmph." _Fine,_ Jensen concedes. He spreads his hip wider, lifts his foot to drag the toes down the back of Jared's calf, loving the way Jared's breath hisses and catches.

"I was just th-thinking. Maybe it's time? Maybe we…?"

"Hmmmm?" Jensen smiles against the light press of Jared's hand over his mouth.

Jared curses and grabs Jensen's roaming hands, pinning them flat to the mattress before his mouth comes down on Jensen's, hard, hungry. Jensen never really got off on being manhandled, but he likes when Jared does it—not that he's going to tell Jared any such thing.

"Let me fuck you," Jared gasps when they finally come apart, panting into each other's space. "I wanna fuck you, Jen. Can we?"

Jensen startles a little. He doesn't mean to, but he wasn't expecting this. Not yet and not after Jared's previous hesitance to even fuck around where Betty might hear. "I…" _Get it under control, Ackles._ "Fucking's a hell of a lot louder than just me sucking you off, Jay."

"So I'll learn to be quiet." Jared's tongue laps the corner of Jensen's mouth in a sloppy half-kiss, followed by his lips pressing to the same place.

"Jay—"

All at once, Jared pulls back and sits up on the mattress. He doesn't go far, his hip is still pressed against Jensen's. As Jensen props himself up on his elbows, Jared reaches between his legs and takes hold of Jensen's cock, stroking and playing with the hardened flesh, rolling the heel of his hand over Jensen's balls. "Jensen." He can hear it when Jared swallows, loud in the stillness. "Look man, I don't know what—who—there was before me, but I get that you're skittish."

"I'm not skittish," Jensen protests, completely unconvincing. 

Jared tilts his head and Jensen doesn't have to guess his expression.

"Not wanting to fuck up a good thing is not the same as being skittish." There's more conviction in his tone this time, which is not easy, considering the slide of Jared's fingers up and down the length of his cock. He finds his hips rocking up gently into Jared's rhythm and tension starting to build in his thighs and sac.

"Jen… I'm not going to lie to you. There are times when I look down at myself and I've got your cock in my hand or my mouth and I just…" Jared shakes his head, long hair whispering across his skin. "It's new. It's different." He squeezes, twists his wrist on the upstroke and Jensen's eyes cross. "But it's not scary. I'm not… I was thinking about this for a long time before I got the nerve to say anything to you. I'm not going to freak out. I'm not going to turn on you. I'm not…whoever it is that made you scared."

Jensen's hands clench. "I'm not scared." A lie, complete and total, but better than the alternative.

Jared leans closer, until his lips are _right there_ without actually touching Jensen's. "Well, all right, then."

VI

Jared wasn't really sure that Jensen would say yes in spite of everything, in spite of whatever magic he can muster with his hand stroking Jensen's dick. It took him a while to get that Jensen wasn't taking things slow just because he's out of practice. 

Something about him and Jensen had clicked from the get-go, but that doesn't mean that he understands what goes on in Jensen's head all the time. Jensen can be….pretty closed off.

But after a while, even Jared couldn't fail to notice the tiny wire of tension that would hum through Jensen every time Jared brought up fucking. Or the way that, every time, Jensen would distract him with his mouth, or his hands, or once—oh, wow, once—with one thick finger around and then up Jared's ass…

Just the thought of that, now, with Jensen hard and reluctant-willing under him, makes his blood hiss fast and hot through his veins, makes Jared bend his head and latch onto Jensen's throat and suck-bite _hard_ in this deepening, helpless want that threatens to overwhelm him.

_Mine. My Jen._

Jensen cries out, claps his hand over his mouth and changes it to a grunt but Jared doesn't really care anymore. Doesn't care if Betty, Emily, Tyler, Luis or any of the rest of their mismatched family hears, knows. Doesn't care if anyone does.

His fingers are slick, slippery, the lube warmed by the rising heat of his skin. Jared reaches between Jensen's legs and rubs across his opening, feeling it pucker and shiver against his fingertips. He feels Jensen open and try to hold him.

Jared groans and sucks harder, though he knows it's got to be hurting Jensen now. He knows there'll be a bruise tomorrow and through the next week, purple-dark and obvious. Jensen doesn't protest though, just pants fast and frantic, throat working against Jared's lips; Jensen just wiggles down a little, trying to take Jared's finger inside him and it's good, it's _so good_.

Jared lets his finger slip through the muscle and feels a shudder ripple up from Jensen's toes, feels his body flinch away and then surge back. Salt prickles under Jared's tongue and finally—finally—he lets go of Jensen's throat long enough to lap at the pinheads of sweat beading up through Jen's skin.

Jared only pumps his finger a couple times—long enough to reacquaint himself with Jensen's prostate—before he slips out and returns with two. Jensen arches and whines and Jared is struck again by how different his voice is than when he acts like Dean, when he puts on his public face.

Jensen's cock presses against Jared's belly, hot, trapped, distracting, teasing friction with every push of his body into Jensen's and Jared's mouth waters with the desire to taste Jensen, to take that thick, swollen head into his mouth and suck.

In the next second, he realizes he _can_ ; that he and Jensen can do anything to each other, with each other, for each other. Jared's own cock, taut with blood, demanding, lurches with the simple brilliance of it. Thrusting his fingers deeper, stroking, Jared shifts down on the bed until he's almost hanging off the foot and takes Jensen between his lips.

For a moment, he only lips the head, dragging his bottom lip hard against the underside and feeling Jensen shudder again, this time in waves that don't stop. Jensen's hand plunges into Jared's hair like it's magnetized, gripping his skull with hard, unforgiving fingers. Jared dips his tongue into the slit, tasting bitterness like milkweed before he opens his lips and mouth, taking as much of Jensen as he can. It's not much—or not as much as he'd like—though he keeps trying.

When Jensen arches up again, Jared feels his throat start to close around the head of his cock. He tries to breathe, tries to take it anyway, but Jensen's tugging on his hair, choke-whispering, "Jay…Jay, please."

Jared comes off of Jensen with a wet, sucking noise. The moment he's not actively concentrating on not choking himself, he's aware of his own cock again, heavy and burning-full between his legs, so rigid he thinks he could drill a hole through the wall. He thrusts his fingers piston-hard into Jensen again, his pinky brushing inquisitively against the puckered skin.

Jensen grabs his wrist. Jensen's fingers are shaking, his whole body's shaking. "No more," Jensen says briefly, sounding choked. "You. I want you, Jay."

It's Jared's turn to bite down on a bone-deep groan, his fingers pinching at the base of his dick to keep himself in check. They rearrange again, the bed creaking and Jared has his cock in hand, guiding himself, the sticky head kissing against Jensen's ass when he thinks— "Shit. Jen. Condoms. We're not…"

Jensen bends, awkward and puffing, to put his fingers over Jared's mouth. "Shhhh. It's okay. I trust you, Jay. Do it."

Jared's mouth feels so dry and his cock so wet at that. He can't argue, can't even speak; he only shifts on his knees and bears down and in, feeling Jensen part grudgingly around him. Jared's fingers close in the sheet; he slither-slides forward another inch and presses in again, deeper. Jensen's hand comes up and clamps over Jared's forearm, his breath stuttering.

Jared turns his head to kiss Jensen's tilted up knee and murmurs, "Let me in, baby. S'just me."

Jensen moans and then his other hand closes around his own cock, jerking hard and furious. At the same time, something in Jensen seems to go quiet, still and limp, accepting Jared into a tight, enclosing heat that's nothing at all like fucking girls.

Jared slides home, slow and deep, all the way to the root and then pulls out just as slow, feeling Jensen quiver and adjust around his cock, gripping and releasing. Jared's next thrust is harder, more purposeful; Jensen moves to meet him, hands still flexing rhythmically on Jared's arm, on his own cock.

Jared wants to kiss Jensen, wants to fuck his mouth with his tongue like he's fucking Jensen's ass—steady now, burying himself to the base—but he can't quite figure it out, his weight braced on his knees and one arm. With his other hand, he pushes Jensen's knee out, spreading him wider, opening him up and Jensen hitches and moans, head flung back on the pillow.

"Jay, I'm gonna…" Jensen whispers and then squeaks, startled and almost-pained as his dick spurts and spills, hard enough to splash all the way to his neck, his chin. Inside, Jensen's like a seizure, clamping and shaking, dragging and slurring on Jared's cock. Jared can't even thrust anymore, just pushing in and in and in, grinding and rubbing himself in Jensen until his sac tightens and his own orgasm smashes him into pieces and then presses him flat. Jared turns his face into Jensen's up-tilted thigh again, biting and sucking to keep himself from screaming, from going insane.

Jared laughs when the last of the aftershocks shivers its way out of him, shaky, relieved, replete and happy. 

"Get off me," Jensen says. He's using Dean's voice again, trying to sound gruff, but it only makes Jared laugh harder. "What so fucking funny?"

"You." Jared stretches, finally able to bend and bring Jensen up to his mouth. The kiss is slow, sloppy, lazy. "This. Us. Think we woke anyone?"

Jared eases out slowly, hissing each time Jensen shifts and twitches. He's always so freaking sensitive after he comes. Jensen makes a noise, almost a gasp, when Jared's cock head is stretching him wide, right before he slips free completely.

Jared collapses next to Jensen with a groan, his arms and legs stiff and grateful for the change in position. He should probably get up and clean himself off. Now that it's over, he feels gross again, rank with sweat and sticky-messy with their combined fluids. On the other hand, he's not sure he can move from this spot, let alone all the way across to the bathroom.

"If we did, I think we gave them a hell of a show," Jensen answers, making lazy swipes down his chest, his belly.

Jared puts his hand over Jensen's. "So…you're okay? It was okay?"

The pillow rustles as Jensen turns his head to look at him.

Jared feels his blush heat his skin. "Dude. Can we pretend that was a lot less girly?"

Jensen laughs, quiet but rich. "Yeah, all right, Jaredina."

"Asshole."

Another chuckle; Jensen rolls toward Jared and holds his face in both hands before kissing him again, suckling and nibbling on Jared's lower lip, deep, slow delves of his tongue. When Jared is thoroughly into it, pushing languidly against Jensen's hip, Jensen pulls back. "Bitch." Even in the dark, Jared can see Jensen's smirk, the flash of his white teeth. "Or is this the part where I call you 'daddy' and coo about your monster cock?"

Jared snorts. He can feel Jensen shaking with silent laughter too and after a few seconds, they both bust up, hanging onto each other and trying real hard to stay quiet. 

"You're such an asshole," Jared says, when they're down to the occasional snort and chuckle.

"Well, _yeah_ ," Jensen says, curling up in the curve of Jared's body and starting to slur as he slips closer to sleep. "S'why you love me."

It's like a stone dropping in water, the ripples of Jensen's kidding words rebounding off the inside of his skin. It feels like realization. It feels like something that was always knocking around in the back of his mind. "Yeah. I do."

Jensen's only answer is a faint snore.


	6. Chapter 6

I

"So you boys'll be going on to where? Texas?" Betty cradles her tea mug in surprisingly youthful hands, only beginning to smudge with liver spots. Even though it's barely after dawn and he and Jared look like they just rolled out of bed (well, they have), Betty is dressed and her hair neatly braided for the day ahead, though a few strands near her temples look like they might make a break for it sometime soon.

"Eventually," Jensen says again, turning his fork around in his fingers. Betty’s made breakfast for them; a ridiculously large pile of pancakes—which Jared is currently tearing his way through—and a pitcher of slightly sour orange juice. "We were thinking of heading to LA first."

"S'there been any news from down that way?" Jared asks, muffled by his mouthful of pancakes and dribbling crumbs over his chin. "Er. Excuse me," Jared apologizes promptly, trying to swallow and catch the excess at the same time.

Betty laughs, warm and delighted. "Not much," she admits. "Hasn't been too many coming up from that way and none of us go so far as that. My friend LeRoy's been running…a kind of business out of his old pick-up, doing salvage runs, trying to find stuff, or people or just bringing news back and forth…and hey, there's a thought."

"What's that?"

Betty's short nails tap on the ceramic of her mug. "Well, if you boys aren't in too big a hurry, LeRoy's supposed to be back in a day or two. If you think you can wait that long, I bet he'd give you a ride most or all the way down to LA."

Jared looks at him and Jensen can almost see the hope spring up in Jared's eyes, though he does a better job of schooling his face. "That would be great," Jensen answers, still having a hard time believing in all this kindness after the trip they've had. "But we don't have any money."

"Pshht." Betty makes a face and waves her hand at him. "What good would money do us at this point anyhow, 'cept look pretty hung up on my wall?"

Jensen shakes his head. "No…I mean, we don't have anything to trade, even. We can't pay."

Betty puts her hand over his wrist and it takes a little effort not to pull away. Just a little. "I'm sure me and LeRoy can work something out, if it comes to that."

"You shouldn't have to do that," Jared protests, licking syrup from the corners of his mouth and looking more like the world's biggest cat than the puppy Jensen normally compares him to. "Jensen and I can find a way. Maybe we can talk to LeRoy, help out with the heavy lifting or something."

Betty smiles. "Well, why don't we see when LeRoy gets here? Either way, I'm sure we can do _something_ to get you boys down to LA safe and sound. And it's the least I can do, after all the pleasure you boys brought me Thursday nights on your little TV show."

Jensen chokes on his pancakes.

II

Jensen suspects he was unconsciously expecting LeRoy to be a six foot-nine black man the size of a linebacker, but he turns out to be a grizzled stick of a guy about Jensen's height and probably a few years older than Jensen's dad. 

Jensen doesn't know what Betty did, said or agreed to, but by the time he and Jared come in from helping Emily, her sister Jade and the mute giant Sayid with doing the house's laundry by hand, arrangements are already a done deal for LeRoy to give them a ride into LA.

"Well," LeRoy allows, scratching the back of his neck with a sound like sandpaper, "most of the way, anyhow. To the barricades."

"Barricades?" Jared looks at Jensen and Jensen knows he's thinking of Canada.

"Yeah. They're unmanned and there's no trouble getting through, far as I can tell, long as you're on foot. But…well. The Angel, she's always been kind of weird, you know? Weirder since everything's done gone to shit."

"LeRoy," Betty says mildly.

"Well, it has," LeRoy says, but his neck blushes red like sunburn. "Anyhow, haven't felt safe leaving my truck for some punk thug to steal and haven't felt like braving the weird to find out how things really stand. S'mostly stories." He takes a loud slurp of the ersatz coffee that Betty made just for him and Jensen's stomach clenches in longing.

"What kind of stories?"

LeRoy shrugs. "All kinds of crazy shi…" He glances at Betty, who only smiles, amused. "…crazy stuff," LeRoy amends. "That the military's taken over. That Schwarzenegger took over with a squad of mercenaries he brought up from Bolivia. That Spielberg and a coalition of Jews are running the place. Nobody knows. But it's not like it was."

"What _is_ the government doing?" Jared asks finally and there's a helpless frustration in his voice that makes Jensen curl his fingers tighter around his own jelly glass of sun tea. "I mean… When we first came across we'd see military patrols, but lately… There's nothing."

Betty shrugs. "Don't know. There were troops up the city for a while, trying to keep the peace, but no one knows what happened to them when it all burned. TV's been gone for a few months now, even if we had the juice to run it, which we don't, and what we'll do when we run out of gas for the genny, I don't know. Pedro—Luis's father—has a shortwave set, but there's been nothing but automated messages for weeks."

"Same with the phones," LeRoy agrees. "All the same thing: 'Everything is under control, keep calm and stay put'." LeRoy snorts, loud and contemptuous. "Far as I can tell, not a goddamn thing is under control." 

"LeRoy," Betty chides again, but she doesn't sound like she means it. Under the table, Jared's knee touches Jensen's, Jared chafes his leg up and down for a moment and Jensen presses back.

III

"That Betty…she's a good 'un," LeRoy says suddenly, pulling Jensen out of the quietness of his mind. "You boys were lucky to come across her."

"Betty's great," Jensen agrees and doesn't have to act to put sincerity in his voice. He fumbles for what else to say, never much good with words unless someone else was putting them in his mouth.

"We're real grateful to her, taking us in like that," Jared adds, jumping to his rescue same as always. "To everyone. We sure weren't expecting it."

"That's not a bad thing." LeRoy unscrews the top of the thermos Betty put into his hands when they left and slops a little coffee into the stained cup. "Won't find too many like her these days. Gotta be on your guard."

"Oh, we found that out the hard way," Jared agrees, touching the bruises on his jaw that have yet to entirely fade.

"If we run across trouble, s'a .38 in the glove box." LeRoy nods towards the dashboard. "And a baseball bat back behind the seat. I'll take the rifle."

Jensen shifts in the seat and Jared's leg presses tighter against his. There hadn't been room for either of them to ride in the truck bed, all filled up with junky odds and ends and so they're mashed together in the cab. Jared, with his longer legs, got shotgun and Jensen got stuck sitting bitch. He tries not to read too much into that. "Got a reason to expect trouble?" he asks cautiously, his voice falling into Dean's lower, gruffer registers without him meaning to. A part of him hates that he does it—can't stop doing it—but it's been his coping mechanism for so long, he doesn't know how else to be.

LeRoy snorts and takes another slurp of his coffee. "Always expecting trouble," he allows. "Just don't always find it. Folks are just desperate and there isn't much desperate folks won't do. You sure you boys got your mind dead set on LA? 'Cause I bet Betty'd take you in without too much asking."

"LA's home," Jared says and the tone in his voice makes Jensen push against his thigh harder, half reassurance, half for his own comfort. "Or close enough, anyhow. We've got family. Friends."

LeRoy tops off his coffee again—and Jared's got to admire the way the truck never wavers, not once, while he does it—and offers the cup to them both. Jensen takes a fast belt. It hits his taste buds like a mini-orgasm, even freeze-dried Folgers doctored up with chicory and acorn powder. Jared doesn't want any, but Jensen shoves it at him again, knowing that the caffeine will help ease Jared's swollen lungs. Or, it always did for Jensen's asthmatic cousin Randy. "Well, I guess you two aren't the first ones out and about on that particular quest. Won't be the last. The two of you together?"

There's no censure in LeRoy's tone, nothing Jensen hears other than genuine curiosity—and he's got long years of experience and paranoia behind him to tell. Even so, all that time—of being quiet, silent, on the down low (ashamed)—means he can't summon his voice to speak, even if he could figure out the right answer, which Jensen's not sure he knows.

Or at least, that's what he blames his surprise and gratitude on when Jared reaches out and puts his hand on Jensen's thigh and says firmly, "Yeah. We are."

IV

_"Jesus,"_ Jensen breathes and Jared turns to see Jensen cross himself quickly and reflexively, his eyes wide, shocked.

Jared doesn't blame him. He feels a little gut-punched himself.

LeRoy dropped them off at the barricades, as promised, and they'd walked into LA on the 101. Somehow, the sight of the highway, deserted and cleared of any vehicles was nearly as terrifying as the day they'd almost been killed. Jared hadn't kicked around LA as long as Jensen, but you didn't have to, to know the 101 was _never_ deserted, any hour of day or night. And in his heart, Jared hoped that sight, that final emphasis on how drastically and fundamentally the world has changed, would be the worst LA had to throw at them.

But now this.

Jared's been to Union Station before. Or, he's been past it on more than a few occasions, touristing it up with his family or friends from Texas when they came into town. And in one sense, it looks exactly the same as always. 

Jared remembers after the Towers fell, the huge boards of notices and pictures and fragile, sad memorials. But that had been on TV; tragic, certainly, but at once removed. It's different now, right in front of him, in his city. It's different when it's Union Station's white walls stuccoed and wallpapered in fluttering sheaves of multicolored, silent pleas.

If Jensen had been Sandy, Jared would have reached out for her hand. As it is, he just crowds a little closer into Jensen's shoulder and feels Jensen push back.

LA's home to almost four million people, but most of the time, that's only a number in Jared's head. He _feels_ how many people that is now, seeing all those scraps of paper stapled, taped, glued, gummed onto the walls. The doors are open and through them, Jared can see more notices inside, all down the long sunlit interior, as well as more people than they've seen in one place since Canada.

Jared looks at Jensen again, who still looks completely overwhelmed. Jared shoves his own freak-out to the back of his mind, puts his hand on Jensen's shoulder with a hard, reassuring squeeze and asks, "Where do we start?"

V

It seems almost inconceivable that Chad is still living in the same hillside bungalow he had _before_. 

_Must be fucking nice._ Jared immediately feels ashamed at begrudging one of his best friends a break. If he and Jensen had been in LA when the end began, they’d probably be doing okay too.

Jared watches Jensen out of the corner of his eye while they carefully make their way to an address Jared knows by heart, wondering if this is as strange for him as it is for Jensen. The neighborhoods are familiar, small shops and markets are open—if doing less than brisk business—but Jared still feels like he’s in the Twilight Zone. Few people are actually on the street. Those who are wear surgical masks and gloves (some more elaborate than others and marked with designer logos) and keep a more than healthy distance between themselves and other pedestrians.

Before long, he realizes both he and Jensen are getting sharp, suspicious glances from passersby because they’re _not_ wearing protective gear. The lesson of the last few months beats at him: _Different is bad. Attracting notice is bad._ He feels naked and exposed, his throat dry and aching with tension. 

Although there are people about, cars on the streets and the more-or-less usual noises of everyday life, LA still feels like a ghost of its former self. The roads aren’t clogged with traffic and there aren't any buses at all, the signs pulled down, leaving gaping holes in the pavement. Jared guesses no one wants to be that close to another person and no wonder. 

Jared picks up the pace and Jensen frowns at him, bouncing to sit the duffle strap more comfortably across his shoulder. "Yo. What’s up, Jay?" 

"I just want to get to Chad’s and find out what the fuck’s up here. This is... I don’t know…morbid." Jared shifts his gaze to an empty playground, void of children, a swing creaking in the slight breeze. Jensen looks behind them, then turns to walk backwards next to Jared.

"I know." Jensen’s voice is pitched low enough for only Jared. "I keep feeling like someone is following us—or we’re being watched. It’s creeping me the fuck out. But you gotta chill." 

Nothing freaks Jared out, though, quite like the dog that dashes out of nowhere into their path, snarling and flashing yellowed teeth. His automatic reaction is to approach him—he looks so much like Harley it makes Jared's breath catch. 

Jared stoops down, arm held out for the dog to sniff but Jensen’s right there tugging him up and shoving his arm down, taking a step toward the animal. Not for the first time, Jared notices how Jensen keeps putting himself between any and all danger and Jared. It warms something inside him as much as he resents it, being coddled. "Jen—"

"No, he’s mad, Jay. Look at him." To the agitated canine he swings his duffle out threateningly and yells, "Go on! Get!" 

Jared is relieved when the dog backs down, tail between its legs. It slinks back into the alley from which it came and Jared breathes a sigh of relief it wasn't any worse than that. He keeps looking over his shoulder, though, until they get to Chad’s street. 

As they leave the less affluent sections of town behind and head into the hills, Jared’s yanked back into the time before _Supernatural_ was canned. Before he and Jensen were forced to flee the world’s friendliest country. 

It's like time's stopped. You’d never know there was a thing wrong with the world looking at the neat, professionally trimmed gardens and grounds of the rich and famous. A woman comes jogging toward them in her perfectly coordinated outfit, stylish ponytail bouncing. Even with the gloves and mask—also coordinated with her purple-blue track suit—it could be any other day in Los Angeles. The woman's eyes widen and she crosses the street hurriedly when she spots them. 

Jared knows they look like shit. He’d probably go the other way, too.

Jared sighs and curves a hand around the back of Jensen's neck, squeezing briefly. Not for any reason. Just because he wants to, to reassure himself that Jensen's really there and this isn't some kind of crazy hallucinogenic dream. "Come on, Chad’s place is just around the corner. We better get off the street before they arrest us." He’s not sure who _they_ are or on what grounds they’d be arrested, but he’s sure they’re out there. Things don't run this smooth without a _they_ behind the wheel.

Jensen stops when they reach the corner and turn right. He pulls Jared into the shade under a huge magnolia limb that’s hanging over the high fence of an estate. 

"What are you going to tell Chad?" 

Jared’s momentarily confused. "What do you mean? I’m gonna tell him we got kicked out of Canada and we need a place to stay until we can get it together enough to go home." Jared knows he’s looking at Jensen as if he’s lost his mind, but he can’t help it. 

"What _else_ are we going to tell him?" Jensen's bouncing on his heels, the way he does when he's irritated.

"What do you mean?"

Jensen rolls his eyes as if Jared's being especially dense. "What I mean," Jensen hisses, "is what are you going to say about _us_?"

Oh. The light bulb goes off and it's Jared's turn to roll his eyes. "Well, I really wasn’t planning on telling him anything, but if the subject came up, I was going to tell him the truth." Jared thinks maybe Jensen is getting _too_ paranoid, but doesn’t dare voice that.

Jensen tilts his head to the side as if he’s studying their situation from all angles. 

"Trust me on this one, ‘k? Chad’s got no wiggle room to be casting judgment and he’s not that kind of guy anyway."

Jensen snorts and Jared feels that same, vague sense of irritation. "Jen…What's he going to do, call the queer police on us? Come on, now. Quit worrying about it. Chad's not that guy."

Finally, it appears Jared’s earnest belief in Chad is enough and Jensen nods. "Don’t even try to stop me if he starts running at the mouth, though, Jay. You know how I feel about him and if there’d been anyone, _anyone_ , else on that board we knew, we wouldn’t be here." 

Jared opens his mouth to defend his friend, then shuts it, lips pressed firmly into a straight line of restraint. Jensen’s attitude toward Chad isn’t anything new. Jared accepted that his two best friends weren’t going to mesh shortly after Jared’d introduced Chad to his co-star almost three years ago. The stress of their current circumstances sure isn’t going to change that. 

He just hopes he's not going to be put in the position of referee, or worse, have to choose between them. Not that there's any contest; he just hates to hurt anyone’s feelings. Enough people have been hurt from this thing already and they're all running low on friends.

Jensen seems to have it in check for the moment, though and pretty soon they’re in front of Chad’s front gate. 

Jared’s not sure why he’s hesitant to push the intercom button. Finally, something's going right and it looks like they can start sorting things out now and get on with their lives. 

The decision’s made for him when Jensen reaches across and jams his forefinger into the button, which buzzes harshly, distantly. Jensen just shrugs when Jared gives him a funny look. "What? I’m hungry." 

Jared smiles and cups his hand behind Jensen’s neck again, giving the same squeeze of reassurance. "Yeah, I hope he’s been to the store recently. Chad's not known for that. It could be ketchup and mustard sandwiches." 

"Even that sound good right now," Jensen laughs.

Jared’s nervousness shifts to irritation tinged concern when there's no answer. Of course, there's every possibility that Chad isn’t home. But something doesn’t feel right and it’s making Jared's throat itch. 

Jared swallows thickly. "Try the gate," he tells Jensen, who's leaning against the brick pillar supporting the black wrought iron fencing. 

Jensen pushes and quirks an eyebrow at Jared when the gate swings open slowly with a squeak that sounds overloud in the still, sleepy afternoon. Jared shrugs and shoves the gate wider to walk through. 

Inside, the lawn—LA sized and barely large enough for Jared to lie down on—is overgrown and drought-stricken. Banana trees have taken over the flowerbeds surrounding the house, climbing and spreading all the way past the first floor windows. 

A rustle of dried weeds makes Jared turn in time to see a skinny, malnourished cat pounce on an unfortunate field mouse. 

"Do you hear that?" Jensen asks, almost whispering. Jared draws his attention back to their surroundings and shakes his head. 

"No, I don’t hear nothing."

"Exactly." Jensen looks up into the ungroomed trees, shading his eyes with one hand. "When have you ever been in LA when you didn’t see any birds? And out here in the 'burbs? With damn near nobody around? They should be freaking taking over."

Jared’s skin prickles and a shiver runs through him that has nothing to do with the temperature. Jensen's right, nailing one of the things that's been bothering him all this time. It's downright eerie. 

They trot up the drive to the glass-fronted door. Jared's more relieved than he’ll admit when he sees Chad’s Wrangler angled crookedly toward the house in its usual parking spot. "I think he’s home."

Before either can knock, Jared sees a shadow of someone moving inside. "Yeah, here he comes now." He squints, trying to make out the figure as it draws closer to the door. Yeah, that looks like Chad's skinny ass. 

Jared's already grinning when the door swings open. Chad comes barreling out of the house in a rush and steps on Jensen’s toe. Jensen jerks and curses.

"What the fuck?" Chad flinches back with a frown, groping at the back of his pants with his one free hand. Recognition clears his face a second later—though not before Jared spots the gun resting low in the small of Chad's back—and Chad drops the case in his other hand to envelop Jared in a huge bear hug. "Jared, holy shit. Man. Oh, dude, am I glad to see you!"

Jared breaks the embrace and steps back to Jensen’s side, wary of the undercurrent that saturates the air when Jensen and Chad are together. Jensen's freaked out enough about everything else; he wants Jensen to know he’s _with_ him.

Chad sticks his hand out to Jensen. "Jensen. Man, hey. Good to see you too." Jared's kind of impressed; it sounds heartfelt. The two men shake and Jensen smiles. It looks equally sincere and Jared feels his stomach unclench a little. He was, maybe, more tense about this than he was willing to admit. 

"Good to see you, Chad. Looks like you’re doing all right." Jared searches Jensen’s face for any trace of sarcasm, but he sounds genuinely glad of Chad’s good fortune. 

"Aw, fuck, man. You wouldn’t believe what’s it like." Chad sweeps his hand across what used to be his perfectly manicured patio and lawn. "I’m lucky to still have the house, lemme tell you. It’s gotten fucking weird around here." 

Jared laughs and shakes his head. "Yo, you do not even know weird. Wait till we tell you what we’ve been through to get here." Already Jared feels the tension of the past weeks draining from his shoulders and neck. They made it. They're really here. And they're really okay. He can start to imagine a normal—or relatively normal—life again. With Jensen. And Texas doesn’t seem so far away anymore.

"Hey, I’d love to hear all about it, but I gotta make a run." Chad picks the case back up and clenches the leather handles. "Can you guys come back later? Where you staying?"

Jensen scratches the back of his neck and Jared clears his throat a couple of times, which causes Jensen to jerk a sharp look in his direction. Jared shakes his head, not wanting Jensen to worry. It's just nerves, he's sure.

"We’re not exactly staying anywhere. We just hit town this morning and… man, we damn _walked_ here from Vancouver." 

Chad lets the words sink in, his eyes narrowing against the late afternoon sun, then steps back up to the front door and opens it. 

"You're shitting me, right?" he asks as he steps back into the cool, shady interior, motioning them in. Setting the bag back down near the door, he heads to the kitchen, leaving Jared and Jensen to follow. Jared touches his fingers briefly to Jensen's back and for a second—less than a second—Jensen pushes back into the touch.

"Man, I wish we were," Jensen chimes in. Both of them drop onto the barstools in front of Chad's breakfast bar. "We weren’t sure… Couple times we didn’t think we were going to make it, Chad." 

The use of his name, rather than the expected ‘dude’ or ‘man’ makes Chad turn from the open refrigerator where he’s pulling out meat, cheese and bottled water. 

"That bad?" Chad looks at Jared for confirmation.

"Yeah. That bad," Jared answers. Jensen's knee rubs against his.

Chad pulls a loaf of bread down from the cabinet, knives to slice it and puts all of it on the counter for them to help themselves. He doesn’t have to offer twice. Breakfast at Betty's was a long time ago.

"Look. I really do have to go do this thing." Chad waves his arm vaguely. "I’ll be a couple hours, maybe a little more, depending. But, you guys can stay here till I get back and then we’ll figure it out. Hell, you can move in with me if you want. There’s enough room."

Jared nods, already shoveling a huge hunk of pale yellow cheese in his mouth. Cheddar, and like Heaven. Jensen lays his knife down carefully and assembles a sandwich.

"What’s your wife gonna think about that?" Jensen asks as Jared swallows.

"Hey. Yeah. Chad, where’s Kenzie?" When Chad doesn’t answer immediately, Jared's eyes widen and his mouth forms a surprised **O**. "She’s okay, right?"

"Yeah, she's fine." Chad holds up a hand. "She’s just down south, staying with her parents in Santa Monica." He busies himself with his own sandwich while talking. "Things just got a bit too much for her, s’all. LA was…a little scary for a minute, you know? I get down there a few times a week. I…uh…have stuff going on here in the city and need to stay close by." 

Jared nods, accepting his explanation and they all chew in silence for a moment. Then Chad’s gaze lights on Jensen and he frowns.

"Dude, what the hell happened to your neck? Looks like you got attacked by a leech," Chad snort-laughs before shoving more sandwich into his mouth. "Who the hell you find to fuck, all the way out in the wasteland?" 

Jared looks at Jensen, horrified and embarrassed, and watches the blush spread across Jensen’s face. Jared’s pretty sure his matches, his face burning hot. The two of them couldn’t _look_ more guilty.

Chad looks from one of them to the other a few times before his mouth falls open, displaying a disgusting half-chewed hunk of meat and pasty white bread. When he finally shuts his mouth, Jared braces himself.

"No fucking way, dude!" Chad cackles, high-pitched and piercing. "'Fess up, bitches! Y'all get a bit lonely on the long fucking road from Canadia? Okay. Now. Who's catching and who's pitching?" He puts his hand over his heart and looks soulfully at Jared. "Jared. My man. Please tell me you weren't the one playing bitch."

"Oh my God, Chad, shut the fuck up." Jared leans over the bar to shove his friend and Chad leans back against the opposite counter, dissolved into helpless giggles. "You are such a _douche_."

Jensen is denying everything and Chad is laughing harder now, holding up his hand in a _I’m not buying it, Ackles_ way. 

Jensen's getting angry red-faced and Jared inhales to tell Chad off for real, but it just goes all wrong down his throat. His breath catches, hitching wildly and then he starts coughing. Jensen immediately turns his full attention to Jared, wrapping both arms around him to keep him from falling off the barstool. 

"Fuck! Shit! No, Jay, not now….we don’t have anything. Breathe, baby. Come on. Take it slow. Listen to me. Look at me. You have to relax, Jay. You have to breathe. Slow." Jensen’s words penetrate through the attack and Jared tries. He tries so hard to stop coughing long enough to draw a steady, shallow breath. But the panic won’t let him and he pleads with Jensen with his eyes. _Please don’t let me die_. 

Chad come around to their side and stands there, first looking confused, then helpless as he watches Jared choking in front of him. 

"It’s allergies isn’t it?" he says. Jared can barely hear him over the soothing sound of Jensen’s voice and can't really manage to even do so much as nod his head, gasping and fighting for every sip of air.

"Yeah," Jensen answers for him, his voice quiet. "Fuck, we used all our meds and pens and shit, I was praying he wouldn’t have another one till we could restock." 

Jared topples slowly from the bar stool, unable to keep himself upright, unable to do anything but concentrate on getting what tiny bit of air he can through his swollen passageway. Chad's hands join Jensen's and they ease him down to the tiled floor, his body half in Jensen's lap. 

"Breathe, baby. Breathe for me. Come on. You can do it…."

"Here. Try this."

Jared turns his head away when something hard presses against his lips, blocking his mouth. Then Jensen is holding his head still and looking down at him intently.

"Jay, stop it. It’s an inhaler. Stop fighting." 

Jared gasps and tries. Chad shoves the plastic piece between his blue lips, between his teeth and Jared hears the hiss of spray. The chemical-ozone odor of albuterol fills his mouth. He lets it flow around inside before swallowing, trying to get it down his throat. Chad presses the inhaler down again and another dose is administered before it’s pulled from his mouth.

Jared’s able to suck in enough air now to allow the inhaler’s load to do its job. Two minutes later he’s laying curled on Jensen's lap and the floor, gratefully gulping deep, fresh breaths of air. He feels the itch of drying tears on his skin and reaches up to scrub at his face.

Jensen’s still there, one hand under Jared’s head and the other pressed lightly to Jared’s chest. "Y’okay now?" Jared shudders at the fear he reads in Jensen’s voice and expression.

He nods, clears the last of the mist from his throat and tries to sit up. "Yeah," Jared croaks. Coughs and tries again. "Yeah. Thanks." He looks from Jensen to Chad, who kneels on the hard ceramic tile beside him.

"You had inhalers?" Jared asks with something like wonder. For some reason Chad looks nervous or embarrassed or something Jared can’t quite put his finger to.

"Someone left it here. I figured I’d better keep it, you know…with the shit and all that’s going on. It's pretty fucking valuable." 

Jared knows Chad well enough to know he’s lying, but the times have changed and he realizes that maybe he shouldn’t be asking so many questions. "Yeah, tell me about it," he says instead, heartfelt.

"Thanks, man." Jensen’s gratitude is mirrored in his eyes and he holds his hand out, a peace offering of sorts. 

"No problem," Chad tries to brush it off, but Jensen takes Chad’s hand with a firm shake. Chad looks embarrassed as he stands and busies himself picking up the food and putting it back in the refrigerator. 

"Look, I’m kinda late already. Gotta run out. But you guys make yourself at home. Take a shower, relax, take a nap. Whatever. I might… I might be able to help you when I get back."

Jared sits up, shifts to lean back against the kitchen wall. Jensen follows Chad to the door, trying to find out what he means but there's no pressing Chad when he's being secretive or busy or both. Jensen comes back in the kitchen shaking his head.

"Why do I think that boy is up to something illegal or immoral or both?"

Jared smiles and hefts his considerable self up from the floor and chugs half a bottle of water down before capping it and putting it back in the fridge. "Uh, because we know Chad?" he jokes. "I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a real shower with warm water. Come on, bathroom’s this way."

VI

It’s dark when Jared hears the grumble of Chad’s Jeep and rouses himself. They fell asleep almost as soon as they hit the sheets, exhausted from the day's travels and Jared's health crisis in the kitchen. Jared feels dry-mouthed and thick, like he’s slept way longer than the few hours he knows it’s been.

He places his lips next to Jensen’s ear and whisper-licks, "Chad’s back." 

Jensen groans and rolls over, then stretches and groans louder. "Oh fuck, that was good. About another forty hours and I’ll be caught up." 

Jared heartily concurs as long as those forty hours are made up of the same stuff of the last three. Sex and sleep. Making love with Jensen in a real bed, with soft, clean sheets was pure bliss and he pretty much just wanted to stay right where they were, wallowing in it.

"Yo! Dudes! You better not be fucking in my bed," comes the loud voice from the front of the house.

Jensen chuckles, hoarse and gravelly from sleep and Jared can’t resist leaning over for another thorough kiss. Jensen makes a surprised noise, but is more than willing to go along with the agenda before he pulls back to shout: "Keep your pants on, Murray, we only fucked in your shower."

Chad groans. "Aw, _man_. I didn't need to know that."

Jared smirks at Jensen before throwing the covers back. "You’re a real bitch, aren’t you?" The words hold nothing but good humor, but Jensen swats him across the ass anyway. Jared shakes it in Jensen's general direction then drags his jeans back on.

They find Chad in the kitchen, which seems to be the de facto gathering room. Jared thinks he looks really tired. A second later, he amends his opinion. Not just tired. Chad looks exhausted and tense, a lot like he did when the really ugly shit was going down with Sophia, just before the divorce.

"Everything okay?" Jared asks, already making himself at home by opening the refrigerator for round two of dinner. 

"Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t they be?" Chad's tone is breezy and when Jared turns around to look at him, Chad still looks edgy but with his normal arrogant tilt. 

Jared gives Chad a look: _Defensive much?_ , but lets it drop.

"So, what were you going to tell us that’s gonna help with…" Jared trails off, unexplainably reluctant to name his malady. 

"Can you help us get Jared some more meds?" Jensen takes over, settling himself on the stool next to Chad. 

If Chad looked tense a moment before, Jared would say he looks downright apprehensive now. 

Chad chews on his thumb and spits a bit of nail out on the kitchen floor. Jared grimaces. Gross. 

"Okay, look. Here's the thing. I know some people…" Chad seems to be finding the pattern on the marble countertop more interesting than life and Jared gets impatient. 

"Dude, spit it out. What’s the deal? I know it’s not going to be cheap, if that’s what you’re worried about…." 

Chad cuts him off. "No, no, I mean, well, yeah, it’s not cheap. I guess. . ." He shrugs and Jared gets the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Seeming to finally make up his mind to tell them, Chad takes a deep breath. "There’s this place, run by these people. High rollers, you know? They're really the go-to guys in LA right now. And you can get all the stuff you need from them. Shit, you can get pretty much anything you need. But…" Chad licks his lips. "There's a price. And it's not cheap."

"Could you be any more fucking vague?" Jensen asks, exasperated. "What people? What place? What do we have to do to get Jared his stuff?" 

"I don't know," Chad admits, shrugging. "It really depends. On how they think you'd be useful. What good you can be to them."

"Huh?" Jensen's eyes narrow like he can read Chad’s mind and get his answers.

"So…what? Is this like the Godfather? They do us a favor and then at some point, they come back to us wanting something done?" Jared jokes, trying to diffuse the tension between the other two. "Am I going to have to make someone sleep with the fishes?"

"I don't know," Chad says, sounding miserable as he hunches his shoulders, hands stuffed in his pockets. "It just depends."

Jared just stands there, dumbfounded and absolutely certain he did not just hear what he thought he heard.

"I'm not killing anyone," Jensen says immediately. "I'm not…I can't do that." Jensen looks at him and Jared sees the darkness in Jensen's bright eyes. "I'm sorry, Jay. Not even… I can't do that."

"No," Jared agrees, shaking his head. "Course not. Jesus, Chad, who are we talking about anyway? Where is this place?"

Chad shrugs again. "The guys who can get you what you need," he says plainly. "Look…I know it's not the best situation, but in case you hadn't noticed, things are kind of fucked up now. And simple shit like aspirin'll damn near cost you and an arm and a leg, let alone Sudafed or inhalers like that one or epipens. Mostly you can't even get your hands on this shit without going to these people. And most folks can't even get that far. You have to know somebody. I'm sorry, but that's just how it is."

Jared sighs. "All right. Let's go see them." He sees Jensen open his mouth to object. "Jen." Jared holds out his hand. "We don't have to agree to anything. It's just to see."

"I just…" Jensen's mouth pinches. "Yeah. Okay. What the fuck? We need the medicine, right? I just don't like it."

"Yeah." Jared snorts. "Well, for the record, I don't either. But like you said. What the fuck?"


	7. Chapter 7

I

Jared fucks Jensen again on their first night at Chad’s house. Whether by coincidence or plan, Chad gives them the guest room farthest from his own, so neither feels badly about the noise Jensen makes as Jared slides slow and sexy into his ass and out again. 

"So good," Jared murmurs, his face right over Jensen's as he lines up and thrusts in again, feeling Jensen tighten and shake. "Feel like I could do this forever."

"Always..." Jensen's voice trembles uncontrollably as Jared's cock sinks deep and then eases out. "Always knew you'd be a cocktease." When Jared enters again, Jensen tightens around him, crosses his ankles behind Jared's back. 

"Only with you," Jared answers, teasing, and Jensen turns his face aside.

In the morning, Jensen sucks Jared's cock while warm water sluices over them both and Jared's enormous hands make shadowy monsters on the frosted shower door.

Thirty minutes later, they're both back in their dirty clothes, since Chad is smaller than either of them. They're clean underneath, though, and the aroma of coffee wafts back to their room, so Jared figures life is as good as it's likely to get. Chad's at the kitchen counter, writing in what looks to be a journal, but Jared can't tell for sure since Chad looks up quickly and slams the cover of the book when they walk in. 

"Tell me that is one hundred percent real coffee I smell and I'm your slave," Jared says, sniffing exaggeratedly as he plops beside Chad and crashes their shoulders together.

"Of course it is, man. What the hell else would it be?" Chad sounds offended and shoves back hard. Jared and Jensen exchange a look and Jared rolls his eyes.

"I think he was afraid it was ground nuts and crap," Jensen explains as he pours them both a large mug from the glass pot. 

Chad empties his own cup, puts it in the sink and picks up his pen and journal. "Nothing but the best at Casa de los Chad, babies. Lemme get some stuff together and I'll be ready to take you guys to that place – if you still want to go."

Just like that, the easy, relaxed feeling Jared started the day with vanishes. Just thinking about having another allergy attack now, with only the inhaler Chad'd given him, makes his pulse fire and his heart pound fast and hard. At the same time, the thought of Chad's shady friends and what they might ask of him, makes him just as tweaked.

Strong, blunt fingers dig familiarly into the tightness bunching between his shoulders, refusing to let the muscles knot. Jared smiles back at Jensen and nods slightly. He's still cool with talking to these friends of Chad's.

"We're just going to _talk_ to them. See what they want," Jensen reminds him in an undertone, for Jared's ears alone. His voice deepens when he does it and Jared shivers for reasons that have nothing to do with nervousness. 

"But, no promises." Jared raises his voice and directs his comment at Chad, who raises his hands in abject innocence. Of course, Jared's seen him make that same face and hand gesture while telling Paris no way, uh-uh, he couldn't _possibly_ have been the one to dye her little dog's fur bright pink.

"Hey, I'm just making introductions. What you guys do is your business. No skin off my nose." Chad disappears down the hall toward his room, leaving Jared and Jensen to mull over their future.

II

Jensen knows LA pretty well; he can think of a half-dozen better ways to get to the beach side than the route Chad's taking. The Jeep's top is up but Chad hands them each a baseball cap anyway before climbing in and tucking his journal safely under his seat.

"What's this for?" Jared asked, already trying to cram his thick, tousled hair into his hat.

"Everybody wears something on their head when they go out now," Chad explains. He chews on his lower lip like he's trying to think of something he can't quite recall. "It's supposed to be protective. Some shit. But before the media went down, they were just telling everyone to wear a hat and if they're going into public places, gloves. It's a thing now. Don't do it, you're just looking to be pegged as a freak."

Jensen frowns. It makes no sense to him that he's going to somehow be protected from the plague by the magic power of the Giants (and of course a pussy like Chad would like the Giants), but he slips it on along with the sunglasses Chad also provides. He pulls the cap low and climbs in the back next to Jared. His shoulders brush Jared's arm laid across the back of the seat and he scoots a few inches closer so they're touching, side to side.

All things being equal, Jensen thinks he's held up pretty well during the months it took them to make it south, but he's feeling like his reserves of balls-out are about used up. Being back in the city -- even only populated at a fraction of its previous number -- makes him rabbity. For most of the trip, it had just been him and Jared and when they had run into people, he'd been focused on survival, on LA. Now that part of things is over and he doesn't have that persona to fall back on. He's just Jensen again, and Jensen has Issues, capital 'I'.

As if Jared is reading his mind, his hand drops from the back of the seat to Jensen's shoulder. Not doing much of anything but lying there, solid and reassuring.

Jared's always been his buffer, ever since _Supernatural_ started up. Stepping in when Jensen starts to lose it. Cutting up some joke or making one at his own expense to take the spotlight off when he sees Jensen buckling under the weight. Just _being_ there, steady and bigger than life, anchoring Jensen like a tree.

Jensen hadn't even realized how much he relied on his best friend until they'd been down for some red-carpet event. _Supernatural's_ popularity had steadily picked up momentum in the last season, till their numbers were starting to close the gap with _CSI_ and _Grey's_. Standing there, watching the blitzkrieg of strobing flashes from a safe distance, Jensen had a mini-freak out just before it was time to head in and Jared was the one to _talk him down_ after he'd nearly bitten his publicist's assistant, April's, head off.

Jensen knows he's got nowhere near that level of anxiety now -- he's too tired, for one thing -- but just the reminder that he--they--are recognizable faces, in a city known for its kooks _before_ , makes him nervous. Fame and popularity might have been the goal, but they'd never set well with him, unlike Jared, who embraced it and made it his own. It's the only time he doesn't actually _feel_ like the older, more experienced one between them.

One thing about this new world: Los Angeles doesn't seem to be sitting in the haze of polluted sky anymore. The air is sharp and clear, the sky almost as blue as it gets in Texas. Jensen imagines that has a lot to do with the lack of three million cars spitting out carbon monoxide everywhere. In fact, now that he thinks about it, Jensen realizes they haven't passed another vehicle since leaving Chad's place a good half-hour ago.

Jensen straightens and looks around, then pokes Jared, who jerks, because for all his size, the silly fucker's actually quite ticklish. Jared looks at him and shakes his head, not understanding what's got Jensen so riled up. Jensen leans forward and raises his voice to be heard over the noise of the Wrangler and Chad's horrible taste in music. "Hey, man, why are we going through the barrio?"

Chad casts a quick look at Jensen over his shoulder but turns back quickly to watch the road. Given Chad's driving, Jensen's just as grateful. "There ain't no easy way to cross the city anymore, guys," he answers and Jensen sees Chad's gaze flick up to meet Jared's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"How come?"

"Man, you thought LA was all divided up before? S'been divvied up among the money people. Mafia, movie execs, oil and big business, who the fuck ever. And then the gangs rose up and took over whatever was left, whatever anybody else didn't want. I don't think anyone really knows for sure who's got what. It's all just guessing and rumors." Chad presses his lips tightly together, as if he's said too much and turns his full attention back to the streets. In the backseat Jensen holds Jared's hand and squeezes tightly, not sure if he's reassuring his partner or himself.

Six blocks later Jensen recognizes the scene of two guys on a street corner, surreptitiously glancing about for witnesses to their deal. It looks like every sketchy drug deal ever made, except the payoff is made with what looks like a hunk of meat wrapped in butcher's paper and this isn't the barrio anymore. It's what used to be a respectable neighborhood.

"Cops aren't around anymore?" He directs his question at Chad, but it gets Jared's attention, who also cranes his neck backwards to watch the deal go down.

Chad looks up from the road, confused. "Huh? Why you ask? See something?" Chad looks nervously out the side windows then back at Jensen, his eyes narrowed in the bright sunlight.

Jared braces his arm against the back of Chad's seat and twists around to look out the back. "Those dudes back there? That was totally a drug deal going down!" His eyes are round and Jensen realizes Jared has probably never even _seen_ something like this happen, except on TV. It slams home to him just how young Jared is. How inexperienced. The thought causes his gut to twist and churn.

"Yeah, 'cept they're probably trading for Cipro or something, 'stead of crack. Not that crack's any less in demand."

Jensen doesn't ask how Chad knows that. The answer probably wouldn't be as funny as the one in his head. "Probably more," he says instead. "People got plenty they want to forget or at least not think about."

Jared's fingers tighten over his this time and Jensen realizes his words apply to them as much as to anyone else he was thinking of.

The city seems to deteriorate before their eyes. Stores and apartments have been clearly looted and/or burned to charred, gangling skeletons. Tent cities are pitched in gardens and parks and when Chad has to slow down to go through a manmade barricade -- obviously not set up by anyone of authority -- a gang of ten or so children, ages six to teens, crowds in on them, screaming for aspirin, the shirts off their backs -- some things Jensen isn't even sure he hears correctly.

Jensen's free hand grips the seat tensely, remembering the kids at the California border; Jared's thigh against his feels taut and when he glances at Jared, he can see the same flickering paranoia. Even through his nervousness, though, Jensen does notice one thing. One thing not a single kid asks for. Money.

"There's a gun in the glovebox," Chad says out of the side of his mouth, still patiently nudging the Jeep forward despite the press of kids. "They go for the car, JT, you go for the gun."

"Jesus, Chad, they're just kids," Jared says, but it sounds half-hearted and rote.

"Kid can smash your head open for whatever's in your pockets easy as an adult," Chad answers and the deep, tired bitterness of his tone raises the hackles on the back of Jensen's neck. "They go for the car, get the goddamn gun."

"Yeah," Jared agrees faintly and Jensen thinks he'd do almost anything to take the quiet seed of that same nauseated disillusionment out of Jared's voice.

_Yeah God? It's me, again. I know it's not your way to fix all our problems for us and I'm not really asking for myself, but Jared... I know he's strong but if you could just make it so he doesn't have to prove how strong, I'd be real grateful. Because... He's my burning bush, Lord. He's the thing that reminds me you're still out there, answering prayers and making miracles._

Jared looks at him weirdly and Jensen has a crazy moment where he thinks maybe Jared inherited more from the persona of Sam Winchester than they thought. Common sense comes back a second later and Jensen realizes he's just been staring and that's what Jared's reacting to. Jensen snorts a little and shakes his head. _Nothing._

Jared smiles and Jensen makes himself smile back. Then, after a moment, he doesn't have to try so hard.

III

“It’s called La Hacienda.” Chad grips the steering wheel of his jeep with both hands, bouncing in his seat arhythmically and squinting through the windshield like he's expecting winged monkey soldiers to drop down from the massive trees on either side of the gate. Hell, maybe he is. They're waiting while the guards check in a delivery truck that pulled up to the gate just ahead of them. 

“Wow.” Jared knows it sounds lame, but his brain is having a hard time registering an appropriately cool reaction to the opulence in front of him. He feels Jensen’s hand on his leg and lays his own hand over it, still not able to take his eyes off what little bit he can see beyond the gate and tall, golden stucco of the wall. 

A double row of tall, graceful trees creates a kind of corridor down the road. It's hard to see the building Jared knows must lie at the end of it; he only gets a vague impression of lion-colored stone and palatial proportions.

“Yeah, it’s probably the only place in LA you can still find fine wine, cigars, most any luxury you can think of. And then the other stuff -- food, meds, drugs. They’ve got a corner, no doubt.” Chad’s fingers drum on the wheel. "Hell, they have the whole damn street, you know?"

A black uniformed guard, semi-automatic rifle slung over one shoulder, waves them forward once the delivery truck is turned away to trundle along a gravelly service road around the corner.

"Just keep quiet and let me do the talking."

Jared feels like he's starring in a war movie as he watches the slow turn of a camera mounted at the top of the fence and pokes Jensen in the ribs, motioning with his head to the coiled razor wire gleaming atop the sandstone and stucco walls surrounding the compound. Jared can't bring himself to think of this place as anything else.

Chad's talking low to the guard at his window and Jared catches words like _business_ and _just lemme talk to her_.

It never occurred to Jared that they wouldn't even be allowed to talk to whoever ran the place. He chews his bottom lip and closes his eyes for a second of silent prayer. There's no small amount of shame and guilt gnawing at him for putting Jensen in this position, tying them together (selfishly, so selfishly), making Jensen come here to choose God only knows what or watch Jared possibly die the next time an attack takes him. 

But, he doesn't want to die.

As bad as things seem, he can't help but believe they can make this work for them. That they'll find a way. He's not sure if he's being optimistic or just naive.

Chad slams the jeep in neutral and puts on the emergency brake before huffing and turning to them. "You guys have to get out here while I go in." Jared thinks he looks pissed, yeah, but there's also a warning in his washed-out eyes. _Don't make waves. Do what they say._

Jensen shrugs and both he and Jared climb out and shuffle to the side while the gate slowly ratchets open on smooth, mechanized hinges. Chad drives through. Jared watches the dirty Wrangler, looking so out of place, as it winds its way up the driveway until it disappears around a curve. He tries not to take that as an omen for anything.

"Hey, man." Jared nods at the closer of the guards and holds out his hand. "I'm Jared." 

The guard doesn't even look at him. 

"I don't think they want to be friends, Jay." Jensen tugs on his arm, pulling him a little away from the gate, the guard shack.

They step back, closer to the street. "This is like some kind of freaking military compound!" In the back of his throat, Jared feels a slight tickle, something that's almost always there now—especially when he's tense—but that could easily turn into a much bigger deal. He needs to calm down.

Jensen shushes Jared and turns his back to the gates, pulling Jared with him a couple more steps. "No shit, it is. Are you feeling this? 'Cause I'm not feeling this, Jay. No place that doesn't have something to hide should have this many guards. Did you see the dogs? The guard dogs?"

Jared leans in, speaking low and close to Jensen's ear. "Jen… Of course they have something to hide. You heard what Chad said. This is where the money, or whatever, is now – or one of the places – in LA. You have important stuff, you guard it. And I got a feeling if we don't or can't get what I need –" Jared winces at the reminder that this is all his fault, "—we'll have to go someplace else just like it." 

Jared doesn't voice the thoughts he'd been having to Jensen, at least not now. As cool as it was to see Chad, to actually have a real cup of coffee and sleep—and fuck—in a clean bed… Well, he almost wishes LA had been just like San Francisco. At least when they were on the road, they knew what they had. Each other. And that was all. And that was enough. 

It's bad enough Jared's going to wind up owing God knows what to these people for the drugs that will keep him alive. He has no right dragging Jensen into it. Except, looking at Jensen's tense, sunburned and freckled face, he knows Jensen won't go. Won't leave him. And for as bad as he feels, he's grateful. So fucking _grateful_

He's about to suggest that they go try to find some of Jensen's old friends after they're done here when the intercom crackles and one of the guards picks up the receiver. 

Two seconds later, Jared can't help tensing up and stepping back a bit when two uniforms stride purposely toward them. Jensen edges forward a step and slightly into Jared's line of vision, shoulders squared. Jared reaches for him, but the guard on Jensen's side pulls his sidearm and they both freeze. Jared worries Jensen just might go apeshit.

"Hey, what the fuck is this?" Jensen demands roughly. "We didn't do anything wrong and the only reason we came is because that –" His words cut off when the other guard yanks him around and begins patting down his sides, his legs, then back up along the inside of his thighs. Jensen looks down. "You got a good grip, there, Sparky?"   
"Just checking for weapons." The guard's tone is dull, mechanical. "Everyone gets the same treatment. They want you inside."

Jared double-takes and pulls his head back when Jensen is relieved of the knife he keeps in his belt at all times. Before they can even touch him, Jared says, "I'm going for mine," and slowly pulls his blade to hold out in offering to the other guard. "We don't want any trouble," he assures them with a brief, encouraging smile. The kind that never fails to be reciprocated – until now.

The guard takes the knife with an inscrutable look and stuffs it in his belt with Jensen's. Then he nods to the one holding the gun and goes back to open the gate.

IV

There are two tricked out golf carts parked on a concrete slab just inside the wall. The guard that Jensen's labeled Sparky gestures towards the nearest one and they take that as their cue to perch on the overstuffed rear seat. As usual, Jared's legs are all over the place and Jensen finds himself jammed into the corner of the seat, consoling himself by wedging one elbow firmly in Jared's side. Fucker hogs the bed too.

Sparky backs up, spins the cart neatly as you please and, bypassing the driveway, takes a rutted little cart path towards the enormous house of which Jensen can just now (if he cranes neck-breakingly over his shoulder) see the roofline.

They pass another squad of guards on foot—two women and a man, each holding a short leather lead to a dog. One of them, a Doberman, bares its teeth and pulls slightly on its leash until its handler jerks it back with a sharp snap. It falls back beside him, but its eyes promise violence darkly.

"I miss my dogs," Jared says hollowly and Jensen's hard-pressed not to whip around and stare, wondering how the vicious killers behind them can remind Jared of the easygoing and goofball Sadie and Harley.

"Just the next rung on the ladder, man," Jensen reassures him instead, recognizing the longing in his partner's tone. "We can try and look up Rachel later today, if you want." He doesn't think about how the two of them and the two dogs are going to make it all the way to Texas. _One step at a time,_ he reminds himself, because apparently he needs it too.

They've been puttering along for a few minutes when a loud gunshot from _way too close_ makes Jensen start. "Get down!" He grabs Jared by the back of his neck and his arm and pushes him down, trying to cover him with his body.

The guard snickers; Jared laughs. "Jen. Jen, get off me. Look, it's not at us. They're not taking potshots at the cart, man." 

In his heart, Jensen knows Jared's right, though that doesn't make him feel any better about it as they straighten up. His face is hot and he thinks he's probably blushing. He hates blushing. Sparky elbows Jensen in the shoulder and then points to something like an observation deck along the north side of the house. Slouched in a lounge chair with a shade umbrella and a bright blue cooler, is another guard with a rifle. 

"They're not shooting at us," Jared repeats as the rifleman raises his firearm again and takes aim at something not even in their direction. He sounds relieved and Jensen feels marginally better. Marginally.

A moment later, the guard fires and Jensen hears a frantic squawk. Sounds vaguely like a crow, but what the hell does he know about birds? _Birds._ They're shooting birds out of the trees. Jensen curses under his breath and Jared laughs again.

"Jesus," Jared says, sounding almost cheerful, "I swear I just about pissed myself. Especially when you grabbed me like that. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Jensen growls.

Jared punches him in the thigh, then leans close and whispers, "Should I put my hand down your pants and check?"

Jensen flushes even hotter, damn him, and shoves Jared. "Quit it, okay? I didn't grow up in the 'hood of San Antone like your redneck ass. I hear gunfire, I naturally get concerned for my wellbeing."

Jared laughs harder, almost bent double and clutching his stomach. "Jensen, I do so love your crazy ass."

A few months ago, Jared could have dropped that line and Jensen wouldn't have thought much of it. They said shit like that to each other all the time. But a few months ago, they hadn't been fucking and they hadn't been…this. Whatever this is. And hearing it now, Jensen realizes how careful they've both been to not say anything like it lately. Not since it started meaning more than bullshit guy talk.

Jensen flushes cold and then right back to hot and suddenly his heart seems to be beating too fast. He can't make himself look sideways at Jared, who's stopped laughing, and they sit like that, in weird and awkward silence until Sparky pulls the cart up next to a blue painted door somewhere on the side of the house. Chad's sitting on a stone flower planter, smoking a cigarette and chewing his thumbnail and Jensen's never been so glad to see the skinny runt in his life.

"Yo, Chad," Jared climbs out of the cart—kicking Jensen in the process—and Jensen follows more slowly, shoving his hands in his sorta-clean jeans. He feels sort of awkward, surly and tongue-tied like he gets with interviews after they've gone on too long and he's run out of the things he's practiced saying. "What's the story, man?"

Chad shrugs and gets to his feet. Though Jensen has Chad pegged as the kind of guy that would leave his cigarette butts strewn behind him like confetti, Chad instead stubs the cigarette out on the rubberized sole of his girly oversized sandal and tucks it back in the pack with the others. "Bad timing," he answers, slouching and looking at them in a way that Jensen knows Chad thinks is charming and really is just kind of sketchy. "Guess there's some big shindig going on today."

"So what does that mean?" Jensen's trying to control the irritation in his voice, but he doesn't know how successful he is, because Jared's fingertips brush the small of his back in warning/reassurance. "Are we going to get to meet or not?"

They've been coasting for a long time and Jensen feels like time is running steadily out on them—until the inhaler stops working, until Jared has an attack bad enough that the inhaler can't fix it and they need epinephrine. ( _Until Jared dies._ ) He doesn't want to put this off anymore, waiting for something that might not even come through or might be more than they can afford.

 _'Afford'_ , Jensen thinks, wanting to punch something so bad he can taste it in the back of his throat like the taste of tin. _Like we can really afford anything._

"Yeah, Claude's gonna be out in a sec," Chad says finally, doing nervous tricks with his Zippo. The click-clack of the lid is starting to piss Jensen off even more. "But look…you gotta be cool, Jense, okay? These people are doing _us_ the favor and if you go in there all badass and grouchy, they'll feed you to the dogs."

"You're kidding…right?" Jared sounds less than certain.

Chad shrugs. "About the dogs, yeah. But not about the need to _keep it frosty_ once Claude gets here, you know?"

Jensen thinks it's more the fact that _Chad Michael Murray_ is giving him advice on how not to look like a douche more than the advice itself that clamps a lid on his temper and starts him on the reset to zero. "Yeah, I got it," Jensen says and for whatever else anybody thinks about him, he's a goddamn professional. He hits just the right note of sincerity and apology and Chad's shoulders unknot from around his ears. "Thanks, man."

Chad gives him a nod. "Yeah, man, don't mention it. I just… _Claude!_ " Chad turns half away from Jensen, a note of ingratiating friendliness that's everything Jensen hates about LA in Chad's voice. "Hey, baby, s'up?"

"Chad, you little weasel," says an irritated—but oddly familiar—surprisingly _female_ voice with an Australian accent. "I have told you before about calling me 'Claude', or baby, for that matter."

Jensen turns. At the sight of the woman striding carefully toward then in very high gold heels and tugging irritably at her very long matching skirt, Jensen feels his jaw drop. 

"Stupid thing," 'Claude' curses vaguely. "I would say you have the worst timing ever, Chad, but as I was very nearly ready to chew my arm off to get out of there, we'll call it even, shall we?"

Jared sidles up behind Jensen, his hair tickling Jensen's skin as he bends down to Jensen's ear. "Do you know her? She an old friend or something?"

Jensen's head whips around. "Are you kidding?" he whispers back squeakily. "Dude. That's _Claudia Black._ "


	8. Chapter 8

I

"Well, come on," Claudia says. Her stride steadies once she's up on concrete and she opens the door to usher them inside.

Jared bumps Jensen in the shoulder and gives him a questioning look as they step into a bustling kitchen. The smell of food—rich, hot food—makes Jensen's stomach growl but doesn't put a dent in the look he gives Jared. "Dude," he says in an undertone as Claudia— _Claudia fucking Black_!—and Chad lead the way, " _Claudia Black._ Claudia _Black._ "

"Yeah, I got it," Jared hisses back. "That's not helping, Jen. Who is Claudia Black?"

"Dude," Jensen says again, because he can hardly believe it. "Stargate. _Farscape._ " Jared's still looking blank. "Pitch Black?" He shakes his head. "Don't you watch any sci-fi?"

Jared shrugs and Jensen rolls his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder what I see in you," he mutters in return, mostly to ignore the fact that they are walking through a _very_ crowded kitchen that seems filled with twice as many people as it should be, all talking and laughing and shouting… 

Jensen's shoulders ache almost instantly. So does the small of his back. Was he this bad before? It's so hard to tell now if his…avoidance of crowds was always this intense or whether it's just that he's not used to it anymore. Not used to people. Not used to anything anymore, besides Jared.

As if thinking made it happen, he feels Jared's hand touch his back lightly, fingertips pressing on either side of his spine.

"Maybe because you remember how much you like it when I suck your balls?" Jared murmurs into Jensen's ear and his hand slides low, down to the curve of Jensen's ass. He pulls back fast, before Jensen can dance away from him, skittish and blushing. "So she was an actor? Like us?"

"I still am an actor," Claudia corrects as they leave the kitchen for a long and dim hallway. She looks over her shoulder at them. "It's only the venue and audience that's changed, I'm afraid."

A slim and curvy girl—woman—in nothing but a tank top, panties and her long, dark hair comes out of one of the doorways, tottering unsteadily up to Claudia. "Claudia," she says, her voice slurring and urgent, "Claudia, please…just…can I get a little more?"

They all come awkwardly to a halt in the hallway and Jensen's seen enough strung out actresses and Hollywood girls to see how this is. Claudia puts her hands on the girl's trembling shoulders and steadies her. "You're already at your limit for the day, Charisma," Claudia says, more gently than Jensen would expect for the way she spoke to Chad. Then again, it's Chad.

Charisma, though…once Jensen hears her name, recognition snaps into place; Charisma Carpenter, another byproduct of the WB. He's never really socialized with her, but he remembers seeing her around, possibly exchanging small talk at one of events long enough to get his drink from the bartender.

"I know." Charisma tosses her hair back and her eyes momentarily glint across him, Jared and Chad, but they go back to Claudia right away, because Claudia's the one with the power here, the one who can give her whatever it is she's jonesing for. "But it's just…it's really bad today. I can't think straight and I'm just… It's really bad today."

"Honey." Claudia's hand comes up to cup Charisma's face firmly. "You can drug yourself into a stupor if that's what you want to do, but neither I nor the Owners are going to let you kill yourself here. If that's what you want to do, you need to make other arrangements."

Charisma shakes her head, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. "No, I don't want to do that," she denies. "Just a little, Claudia. Not enough to hurt. Just a little."

Claudia sighs and straightens, touching what looks like a Bluetooth mike in her ear. "Michelle?" she calls. "Michelle, where are you?"

"Aw, Claudia, come on…" Charisma pats Claudia's arm placatingly. "You don't have to be that way."

"Charisma, I am busy." Claudia's tone gets harsher, she shakes the other woman off of her. "Go to your room and get right or go find and fuck Michael or whatever it is that you need to do but _get out of my face_ right now. Do you hear me?"

"All right…" Charisma backs up unsteadily. Again, her eyes flick to Jared, Jensen and Chad, standing silent and awkward. Jensen sees a lot of things in her face, her eyes, but not shame. There's no shame. He shivers and looks down, spooked despite himself. "Okay, I'm sorry."

Charisma takes two steps towards them. _"Nice to see you again, Jensen,"_ she hisses viciously, before shoving through them and walking away.

II

"I'm very sorry about that," Claudia says, once she's ushered them into what's probably her office. An office, at any rate.

"No worries," Chad says, settling one hip on the edge of her desk as Jared and Jensen take the two chairs in front.

"Get off my desk," Claudia snaps. Chad promptly jumps up again.

"Now," she says, settling herself in the mahogany colored leather of her own chair. "What can I do for you…?" She looks at Chad inquiringly.

"Jensen," Jensen supplies, coming halfway out of his seat and extending his hand. He tips his head. "I'm a big fan."

Claudia takes his hand, but her smile is sour at the edges. Too late, Jensen realizes that reminding her of the life she's lost might not have been the smartest move he's ever made. "This is my partner, Jared," he says to cover the momentary awkwardness and Jared comes up to shake hands as well. 

Once they're settled again, Jensen looks at Jared, not sure how to proceed. He's not comfortable bringing up Jared's allergies, even in front of the woman that can—theoretically—help them with the problem. Too many bad connotations to being marked as 'sick', as 'dangerous'. Too many consequences. He's not comfortable talking with anyone else about their desire to get to Texas, afraid of how those fragile plans might be derailed. And if he can't bring himself to talk about those things, he doesn't know what else he can say to the beautiful, impatient woman on the other side of the desk.

"I have these allergies," Jared says finally, taking up the slack with his usual effortless skill. 

"Ah." 

"And me and Jensen, we're trying to get home. And medicine…" Jared laughs a little and scratches the back of his neck. "Well. That's gettin' kind of hard to come by."

"Hmmm," Claudia agrees. "I can imagine. And this is what brings you to our door."

"Yeah."

"And can you pay for these medicines you need so bad?"

Jared spreads his hands. "I don't even know what they're going to cost," he says easily, like it's not his life they're talking about. "But…probably not. We pretty much walked here from Vancouver. All we've got is the gear on our back."

"Vancouver? That's a long way." She sounds surprised. 

Jensen shrugs. "Not much choice. Got stuck Canada-side when the borders closed up, had to get home somehow."

"Of course." One of Claudia's nails, painted as golden as her gown, traces an idle shape on the desk. "What do you know about La Hacienda, gentlemen?"

Jensen glances at Chad, who's busily tapping his foot, arms folded. "Nothing, really. Chad here said he had some friends who could maybe help us out."

"Hmmm." Claudia taps against the wood. "Friends."

"Well…" Chad says hastily, spreading his arms, "associates."

Claudia sighs. "Don't worry, Chad; you'll still get your commission. You can stop fawning." She eyes Jensen in a not-unfamiliar but still completely uncomfortable way. "In fact, I suspect there might even be a bonus in it for you."

Jensen's head whips around. He might have his problems stringing words together, but not a damn thing is wrong with his brain and the implication of Claudia's words is clear. 

_I might be able to help you,_ Chad had said.

 _Or help yourself,_ Jensen thinks, chest tight and his palms starting to sweat. _You little fucking bitch. Jared trusted you._

"You can go, Chad," Claudia says, sounding bored and looking at Chad from under her lashes. "Go talk to Michael; I have some meetings I want you to handle. He has the details."

"Yeah, sure thing."

When Chad is gone, Claudia turns back to them. "Well. I suppose it's time for the spiel then, yes? Okay. Like everything else, La Hacienda has changed a lot since the epidemic. We can provide you with the medication you require…as well as other things. But obviously there's a price."

"And from what you tell me, you have no means to pay." Claudia opens a drawer in her desk and starts rifling through what sounds like paper. "First and foremost, La Hacienda is a place of hospitality. We provide entertainment and companionship for the Owners, their clients, friends and allies."

Jared makes a noise that Jensen can't classify. "A whorehouse."

Claudia inclines her head a little. "If you like. The point is, gentlemen, that we have something you want. And as far as I can tell, you have _nothing_ that we want. Except maybe a measure of your time and labor."

"If you can call that labor," Jensen mutters. He doesn't know what he feels. On the one hand, he feels cold, iced to the bone by the suggestion. On the other hand, he feels completely unsurprised. His brain's been working up to this for a while now.

"I have to admit, I'm not really familiar with either of you, but you're friends with Chad and I have at least seen your faces before. I believe you have some affiliation with what is now the CW network?”

“Had,” Jared corrects and there’s a stubborn set to his jaw. “We had an affiliation. We're not – affiliated with anyone now.” Jensen thinks he sounds like he’d like to keep it that way, but it’s not looking good for free-lancing. 

Claudia inclines her head in acknowledgment. “All right. In any case, we do quite a lot of business with them, as well as a number of others that enjoy a certain level of success. On both sides of the books, you might say.”

 _You might say. I would definitely say,_ thinks Jensen, thinking of Chad and Charisma downstairs. The lines are filling in and Jensen’s getting the full picture now. 

“So, I’m guessing our only option is to accept your offer to provide what we need if we – if we provide what _you_ need.”

Her brown eyes are intensely serious and piercing when Jensen gets her full attention. “There is _always_ more than one option. This just happens to be the one I’m offering. If you think you can do better elsewhere, you're free to do whatever you like.”

Claudia closes the drawer she’d rifled through earlier and turns in her chair as if she's about to stand. 

Jared holds up his hand. “Wait. Ms. Black.” She arches a well-shaped brow, not rising, but not settling back in the chair, either. “Please, wait.” Jared’s voice is soft, entreating. “I mean, you can see we need a minute to get used to the idea of what you're offering, right? Much less consider accepting it.” Jensen can tell Jared’s trying to calm things down by the tenor of his voice and the bright smile on his boyish face. It’s what he does best. "It's a long way from anything either of us has ever even thought about, let alone done."

Claudia's smile is both tight-lipped and amused as she reseats herself, arranging her lightly clasped hands daintily in front of her on the desk. "I do understand the dilemma," she agrees, tone drier than Death Valley.

 _This is for Jared,_ Jensen reminds himself, trying to override his kneejerk anger. The least Jensen can do to help Jared is listen to her. Find out exactly what’s expected of them if they do this. “So, how’s this work? I take it there’s no standing on a street corner on Sunset Blvd.” He means it as a joke, but Claudia looks practically scandalized.

“I should say not! This is not a street corner operation, gentlemen. And there is considerably more to the offer than simple allergy medication. As you can see, we're quite well guarded; that protection extends to employees as well as our clients. All of our employees live here, play here, work here. We have electricity, ample supplies of food, medical supplies and a great deal of luxury for the world we find ourselves in. Not everyone who works here is under the same kind of…restrictions as you two; many find that the security of living here is worth the cost. And its far less sordid than you're probably thinking.” She reaches in and pulls out a sheaf of papers. “I can assure you this is a business. A very profitable, sometimes enjoyable business. But we’re all professionals here.”

Jensen remembers Charisma again. Somehow he doubts the same “professional” attitude is shared by all the employees.

“What’s that?” Jared asks, pointing to the papers in Claudia’s hand.

"It's a contract, just like any other contract. Here's a breakdown of what it costs us to house you, including all the amenities." She puts one sheet of paper on the desk between them. "This is a price list for any 'extras', including the medication Jared here will need. Prices are subject to change, obviously." The second document is much thicker, several pages printed on pale green paper and held together with a binder clip.

"Obviously," Jensen replies sourly.

"We understand that this is...difficult, and so you'll see your pay rate for 'services rendered' is quite generous." She taps one golden fingernail on a figure. "Even with the added expense of Jared's medication, you'll be clearing ten percent of your income." Jensen opens his mouth and Claudia holds up a hand to halt him. "Look, I know that seems low, but you have to think about it this way—that ten percent? Is pure profit. All your other needs—housing, clothing, etcetera—are all provided by the House. Now even before everything turned to shit, were you honestly pulling ten percent free and clear after you paid for rent, clothes, cars, your agent, your credit cards? It's a less than ideal situation, but we aren't _in_ an ideal situation."

"How is our 'profit' accrued?" Jared asks, looking up from studying the price list and cost breakdown. His hair is falling into his eyes again, making him look absurdly young but his voice is anything but. People tend to forget Jared has a brain beneath all his puppyish enthusiasm. "Paper money's not worth anything these days and really, neither is gold or jewels. Not for day to day living."

Claudia nods as if she expected this question. And maybe she did. "It's accrued in the form of credit, which is held in a House account."

Jensen chuffs softly, leaning back in his chair.

"The account is accessible from any terminal in the house, any time you want to check what's going in, what's going out. At the end of every month, you'll get a statement with a cost analysis breakdown of what you earned versus what the house debited for costs incurred. The contract is purely 'at will'; any time you want to cash out, the house will turn your credit into whatever kind of portable value you like—food, supplies, medicines, drugs—and you're free to go. It's not slavery." Claudia folds her hands on the blotter and Jensen sees the back of one is marked with a newish scar, jagged and ugly. "In fact, you might find that living here, safe and with some small remnant of normalcy and a fair amount of luxury, is preferable to whatever might happen to you out there." Her lips press thin and Jensen wonders if that's because of them or her own recollection of whatever brought _her_ to this position. "We're in the long, slow fall; things are falling apart and getting more desperate, more dangerous by the day."

Jensen thinks about what it felt like, being held down by all those boys at the California border, unable to stop them from hurting Jared, hurting him. Knowing that they were probably going to die there like that and not sure how bad it would get before it even happened. His throat feels very dry as he swallows and looks at Jared. It's hard to make out Jared's expression through all the hair, but he thinks Jared's remembering—that, or maybe the lynching in Canada—too.

"I don't think we can decide this now," Jensen says finally, slowly. The inequality of their position, the desperation of it, is hitting him again in new, different ways. To save Jared, they're going to have to negotiate. If not with Claudia Black and her mysterious handlers then with someone else. And they have nothing. Nothing of any value to anyone except maybe that they're young and good-looking.

"No, of course not," Claudia agrees. "You're free to take the breakdown, the price list and the contracts with you. Have your lawyer look at them." She smiles and the corners of her eyes crinkle in amusement. "Look, I think what you need to understand here is that the House doesn't need _you_. It just needs someone pretty and willing enough to do what needs to be done. This isn't personal. And what you get in return—"

"In return for _whoring ourselves_ ," Jared points out. "For fucking strangers."

"All right," Claudia says equably. "What you get _for fucking strangers_ is a place that can protect you, provide for you, that lets you lounge around a pool while most other folks are scrambling to find enough food to get them through that day. There's a limit on how many clients you have to service, free medical care, days off…it's a good deal. It may just be the best deal you're ever going to find. You can make me—the House—the monsters in your mind if that's what gets you through the night, but think about it. Think about it. And then decide."

III

To say the ride back to Chad's house is subdued would be the most absurd of understatements. Chad is hiding behind his sunglasses and utter fascination with the road in front of him. Jensen looks like he's about to go into oral surgery without anesthesia and Jared. God, Jared feels beat. Not beat up. Beat down.

He drinks down half the bottle of icy-cold water provided by Claudia as they left the compound. What Jared had imagined didn't even come close to how hard things were to come by, probably because all he and Jensen had needed for the last few months were each other and enough food not to starve. But when pressed, Chad confirms what Claudia told them and Jared starts to see just how unrealistic any kind of life for him and Jensen—at least the way he'd envisioned it—is: About as much of a fantasy as either of them making a living as actors anymore.

Jensen shifts in his seat, turning his back further on Jared to stare out the window. Jared can't read him at all and that probably scares him as much as what Claudia has offered. His first guilty thoughts are that Jensen is probably regretting ever meeting Jared. Wishing they'd never gotten to be such good friends—lovers—so he wouldn't feel obligated to watch out for him. Probably trying to figure out a way to dump him as soon as possible so he can go on and find his family in Texas and forget the nightmare of their months on the road and days in LA.

"Hey. Jay. What's the matter?" Jensen's touch on his leg and the soft, roughness of his voice grabs Jared's attention and he almost cries when he looks into Jensen's eyes.

"I'm sorry," is all he can manage.

Chad stops at what passes for a store these days and doesn't say a word as he hops out of the Wrangler and slams the door so hard the whole thing sways.

"Don't know what's crawled up his ass," Jensen mumbles and slides down in the seat to lay his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly.

"Maybe he's sorry he took us there," Jared guesses and shoves the sleeves of his long-sleeved t-shirt up. He finishes the bottle of water and starts to tap the empty plastic against his knee, nervously.

"That makes two of us," Jensen says, eyes still closed.

Jared feels like his fears and suspicions have just been confirmed and he just can't stand it anymore. Unclasping the seat belt, he shoves the passenger seat forward and unfolds his tree-length legs out of the jeep and just starts walking away. He's _not_ going to make himself Jensen's responsibility.

"What the fuck, dude?" Jared hears Chad's voice yelling at him across the parking lot and turns to see him carrying two plastic bags to the car, probably containing their dinner.

"Jared!"

Walking backwards he salutes Chad with unmistakable irony. "Thanks for the ride, man. And thanks..." he flaps his hand in the air, "for trying to help." He feels a hysterical laugh bubbling up and knows if he doesn't just get out of here, he's going to lose it in front of both Jensen and Chad.

Then Jared hears the jeep door slamming and just walks faster at the sound of boots jogging up behind him. "Jay, wait up. Jared!" Jensen sounds genuinely confused. Genuinely hurt.

Jared freezes, standing still, his shoulders and back forming a straight line of stubborn refusal to listen to Jensen if he's gonna try to talk him into going back.

"Where you going?" Jensen draws even with him now, then darts in front of him, searching Jared's face for the answer to his question when Jared doesn't say anything.

"I'm not going to make you do that, Jen. Don't ask me to. I don't care what happens to me." Jared's shaking his head so hard his hair swings around into his mouth and he spits it out, frustrated and angry. "I. don't. care. anymore. I'm _not_ going to let you whore yourself out for me." God, it sounds so–so dirtybadwrong when he says it out loud. Even more than it does in his head.

Jensen steps back, obviously trying to catch up to Jared's words. Jared sees Jensen's gaze shift just over his shoulder before he raises a hand in the 'stop' position. Chad must be getting close. "I got it, man. Just give us a minute."

Jared's about to tell Jensen he doesn't have any plans to change his mind in the next minute, but Jensen is crowding in on him until they're chest to chest and Jensen's head tilts back slightly to stare into Jared's face.

"Last time I looked, son, I was a grown man and get to say what I do with my life," Jensen's accent coats his words like honey and Jared thinks he may not have ever seen him looking quite so—Texas. "So, you don't get to tell me what you're gonna let me and not let me do." A fine mist sprays from Jensen's mouth; Jared doesn't even bother to wipe it away. He just stares right back, as stubborn in his own way as Jensen.

"That might be, but if I'm not around, there ain't no reason you gotta go back to that place." There. Jared didn't see any way Jensen could argue with that logic.

"Without you, I got no reason. Period."

Jared always thought he was pretty bright, but Jensen's words hang in the early evening air and Jared—he's just got nothing. Finally, it begins to dawn on him exactly what Jen is saying. He shuffles his feet a little and frowns, letting his brain parse the sentence.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Jared finally spits back. "You can still get to Texas, find your family. You can still…live. There's nothing for you here in LA."

Jared's surprised when Jensen looks like he's about to punch his lights out.

"You, you fucking moron! What do you think this has all been about, all this time? You are my life now! You're my family." Jensen opens his hands. "Jay… _come on_! I love you."

Jensen's words hang in the air between them and Jared thinks Jensen looks as shocked at saying them as Jared is at hearing them. He decides to take the high road.

"Jensen, I love you too, man, and being my best friend means I don't put you in—positions..." Jared almost chokes on the word, "like this." He's starting to think he should have waited until they got back to Chad's to have this discussion because there's a group of people glaring at them from across the parking lot and Chad's leaning on the horn.

"No, you idiot. You still don't get it!" Jensen's voice is rising and Jared puts a hand on his arm, then sort of drops it back to his side at what comes next. "I. Love. You." Jared blinks. "Yeah, like _that_." And before Jared can blink again, Jensen pulls Jared's head down and kisses him, with lips and teeth and tongue and Jensen's hands are holding Jared in place like he's afraid he'll disappear into a puff of smoke before his eyes.

"Come _on_ , you goddamn fairies!" Chad shouts impatiently from behind them, shattering the moment. "You can suck face in the car! My dinner's getting cold." Chad pauses. "Wait. Scratch that. Save it 'til you're behind closed doors and I don't have to watch your pansy asses."

Jensen sighs and Jared chuffs a breathless laugh. A moment later, Jensen's thumbs caress Jared's cheek as he pulls him down again until their foreheads touch. "Come on. Let's go back to Chad's and do this. Just get over it, Padalecki. You're stuck with me." 

The hint of a wry smile on Jensen's face makes Jared's heart melt because he knows—he just knows—he has no defenses against Jensen now and he's half pissed at himself for being so weak and half elated beyond words that he won't have to do this alone.


	9. Chapter 9

I

By the time they pull into Chad's drive, Jared thinks he might be about to hurl from the tension coiled tight in his belly. Jensen hasn't _not_ touched him since they got back in the Jeep and Jared feels like all his defenses are just stripped to the bone. 

Since they left the store, Jared's done nothing but try to figure out a way to make Jensen see reason. Pathetically, he knows deep inside that he's not going to try too hard, though. He wants—no, needs—Jensen too badly and he's just not sure he can fight it anymore. In his heart of hearts he worries that he's not trying hard enough.

"Earth to Jay-red," Jensen jokes and bumps his shoulder before following him out of the car and into the house.

Chad's already unpacking their dinner from the bags and the smell of meat literally makes Jared's mouth water. And when Chad opens the cupboard over the bar and reaches up, Jared figures he's getting the plates or something. When a bottle of wine appears, he knows his mouth is hanging open.

"Where'd you get that?"

Chad just smirks and reaches back up for three glasses. "Hey, I may not have the most noble job in the world, but it has its perks."

"What is your job, exactly?" Jensen asks, low and dangerous. "Besides the obvious." 

It doesn’t look like Jensen’s words even faze Chad, but Jared makes himself busy with a corkscrew Chad's produced and cuts a pleading look at Jensen. He knows Chad. Considers him one of his best friends. It’s hard for Jared to believe anything other than Chad was just trying to help them out with a pretty shitty situation. It's not like he's seen a lot of options so far. 

"I'm their man Friday," he says, popping a piece of bread in his mouth as he talks. "Needless to say, everyone involved likes to keep a low profile, so if a new client wants information, I meet with 'em, give ‘em the low down and take their information to pass on. There may not be much law around anymore, but... ." He shrugs and pours the open wine. “Compared to the alternatives, it’s a sweet deal.”

"And I guess part of your job is pimping for them…finding new meat for the House?” Jensen’s bitterness pours out with his words. “What’s your _bonus_ gonna be, Chad, for me and Jared? For pimping your best friend?”

Jared's mouth drops open and before he recovers enough to voice his _what the fuck_ thoughts, Chad's practically climbing over the bar and in Jensen's face and Jared just knows he's never seen Chad that pissed off.

"Listen, Ackles! I’m not the one who showed up on your door looking for help. I’m not the one,” and he looked almost apologetically to Jared, “who’s gonna die without medicine that is worth its weight in plutonium.”

Jensen’s turning red and Jared foresees fists flying and blood spraying. But Chad’s not done. “You don’t like the way things are, fuck you very much! Life’s _over_ the way you knew it. And before you go _ass-uming_ anything about me, think about where else you're going to get what JT needs so he can stay alive to keep sucking your cock."

"Chad." Jared keeps his voice even, leans back on his stool and stares at them both, ready to go for Jensen's arm if he takes a swing or maybe even step between them if necessary. What he really needs to do is separate them. Let everybody cool the fuck down.

"Jen." Jared puts lays a hand on Jensen’s arm and pulls him back a step. “Why don’t you go take a shower. I wanna talk to Chad alone.” 

Of course Jensen’s about ready to argue, but Jared pulls out all the big guns and just glares at Jensen, setting his jaw in a way his family would have recognized as big trouble. Apparently, he gets his message across, because Jensen narrows his eyes at Chad and jabs his finger toward him.

“Yeah. Okay. We’re not done, Murray.” Jensen points and without waiting for Chad’s retort, spins around and heads toward his and Jared’s room.

The kitchen feels unnaturally quiet for a minute until Chad slams his hand down flat on the counter, making Jared start a little. 

“Jesus fuck, Chad. The hell?” Jared drops onto his barstool and reaches out to pour himself a very full glass of wine. 

“What?” Chad looks defensive and just totally un-Chadlike, as far as Jared’s concerned. But then, he wonders just how much he must have changed to Chad, thanks to the months on the road, living and traveling day-to-day, never knowing what tomorrow was going to bring. 

He can almost feel the anger radiating from Chad and remembers his wish the day before that he would not have to choose between friend and lover. Jared sighs and scrubs up his face and into his hair with long fingers.

“What?” Jared parrots. “Let’s start with you about ready to crawl up Jensen’s ass just because he asked you some questions? And for that matter, I’d kinda like to know, too. How’d you get pulled into this shit with this Claudia person?”

Chad’s expression shuts down and his mouth tightens in stubborn silence. “I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else, JT, so just back the fuck off.” Chad sloshes wine in his glass and takes a deep breath, turning his back on Jared.

There’s another minute of awkward silence and Jared’s ready to go join Jensen in their room when Chad turns back around. “Look – the world? Is totally fucked up now. I don’t have a clue what it was like for you guys hoofing it from Vancouver, but I do know that staying in this city – just trying to stay alive and taking care of me and Kenzie – is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And there’s fuck-all for work now, so me? I gotta do what I gotta do. And I'm real sorry it's gotta be this way, man, but this is just how it is.”

Jared tilts his head, thinking and replaying Chad’s words. He’s not stupid. He knows just how different things are. Yeah, so they’re not finding the help they thought they’d get in LA, so it’s time to regroup – rethink things. Slowly he nods and holds his hand out to Chad.

“I know, buddy. Forget it.” Chad reaches out and they shake.

“I’m just gonna go… gonna talk to Jen. Figure out what we want to do next. See ya in the morning, ‘k?” 

Chad just nods and takes a long pull from his wine glass before refilling it.

II

Jensen's skin ripples when Jared opens the stall door and crowds in with him, but he doesn't move, forehead against the tile.

"Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" Jensen's voice sounds gluey and nasal to his ears and he's tired. Man. He's so fucking tired.

"I don't know." Jared shuffles uncomfortably in the small space. "Fuck. I don't know. Any of it."

Jensen sighs, opens his eyes and turns around. "Any of what? What the hell are we even talking about, Jay?"

Jared leans back against the rear shower wall, hands flat and his hips canted out. Despite himself, Jensen's eyes trace and linger on the long, lean contours of Jared's body, hungry for the sight of him. Not just his cock, pretty as it is, but for the way Jared's put together, strong and solid. Jared's just the kind of guy Jensen's always been into, when he goes for guys. Like Jeff. Like Michael.

Except Jared is nothing like Michael. Jared needs him. Jared needs him and Jared needs him to do this. Not that Jared would ever ask any such thing of him, which is just another way that this is so different from Michael. So different.

"What are we doing?" Jared asks him. "Because…" Jared's eyes falter and that stabs Jensen down deep because Jared can _always_ look him straight in the eyes, "'Cause I don't know, Jen. I just… I don't know what the hell is going on. And it scares me."

Jensen's breath sighs out of him. "Jay…"

"I do love you, Jen," Jared says, and his voice is so soft, Jensen can barely hear him over the shower. Jensen turns around and shuts off the spray, hand aching from where he hit the tile over and over again. He doesn't really care if Chad notices the cracked tile but he hopes Jared doesn't.

Jared's hand touches Jensen's shoulder, shoves him around, pushes him into the wall. "Jen. Look at me."

Jensen does. 

" _Because_ I love you," Jared says, holding Jensen there just by the power of his one hand, just by the power he has over Jensen, period. "Because I love you I don't want you to do this. I don't want… I think about someone else touching you… I don't want it. Just Jeff was bad enough. I don't want…"

"Stop," Jensen says, but there's no strength in his voice. He shakes his head doggedly, starting to get cold now as the steam and heat dissipates from the shower. "It's just acting. It's just… I can do that. I can act. It's what I'm good at." He pushes against Jared's hand, reaches out to flatten his own fingers on Jared's damp skin, feeling the dull thud of his heart. "But I can't…" Another shake of his head. "Watch you die. Especially if there was something I could do about it. Don't ask me to do that. Don't ask me to just…walk away like I don't give a shit."

"It's not like that…"

"It _is_ like that," Jensen insists. "Jared… You said together."

"Okay, but…"

"No, not okay, _but_ …," Jensen inches closer again, "together, Jay. I took that seriously. I need you to take it seriously, too."

"I can't ask you to do this," Jared says, miserable and pinched. 

"You're not asking me to do anything. I'm asking _you_ ; let me do this. Let me help. Let me help us. Because we will get out of here. And we will go home—really home."

"Jen…I don't know if _I_ can do this." Jared's voice shakes a little.

Jensen pauses, leans back a little on his heels. "What do you want to do, Jared? 'Cause I'll back your play whatever it is. You want to try and go, without the medicine, we can leave tomorrow. If you want to see if we can get in with one of the other players in town that Chad was talking about, we can do that too. I don't care."

"I just don't know what to do," Jared admits. "I don't know what the right thing is. It all just…sucks. I don't want to die."

"You won't," Jensen answers with every bit of sincerity and ability he can project. "It's just acting, Jay. And it's just for a little while."

Jared nods, looking down at his feet. Jensen tips up, lets his lips caress over Jared's. Jared's mouth opens to him right away, without hesitation and that too is so different from anything Jensen's had before. Jared's arms sliding around him, pulling him close. Jared coming after him, checking on him, holding him up, holding him together. Jared almost dying, to save his life.

Jensen's not sure what he won't do, to have this, long after he'd given up consciously even thinking it's possible.

_Fairy-tale romances are for girls and pussies, Jensen, and I'm neither one. It's been fun and all, but what did you think was going to happen here? We'd move in together and have a commitment ceremony and buy 'his' and 'his' towels? C'mon._

"You're shaking," Jared says suddenly, his face pulling back even as his arms tighten. "God, you're probably freezing; let's get you out of here."

He manhandles Jensen out of the shower and Jensen lets him, lets Jared scrub him down with one of Chad's towels, push him into the bedroom, into their bed. Jared curls up behind him, already radiating heat. In an hour, Jensen knows he'll be sweating and throwing the covers back.

"I'm sorry, Jen," Jared rumbles, the edges on his words softening and crumbling away. "Won't try t'leave again. Not 'thout you."

Of course, that's still an hour away.

_Thank you, God._

Jensen closes his eyes and pushes back into the curve of Jared's body.

III

Jared’s already dressed, buttoning up his second shirt when Jensen wakes up, feeling more refreshed than he has in month, despite sleeping with Jared the human-furnace.

“Umgh,” Jensen smacks out through dry lips, licks them and tries again. “We gotta be somewhere?” 

Jared grins and its Jensen’s only warning before he takes a running leap onto the bed, landing squarely across Jensen’s middle. 

“Fuck, Jay, I gotta piss. You want me to do it in the bed?” Jensen sounds grumpy and put out but his eyes tell Jared a different story.

Jared rolls his eyes and rolls off Jensen, pulling the sheet and light blanket with him, leaving Jensen laying naked in the cool morning air. “Then go. Go pee, get dressed and get ready. We got things to do today.” 

While Jensen gets his shit together, Jared heads down the hall, already hearing Chad in the kitchen. The coffee smell is as good today as it was yesterday. 

“What’s on the agenda today?” Jared asks Chad, pouring his own coffee and just holding it between both hands up to his nose. 

Chad shrugs. “Nothin’ really. Why?”

“Can we borrow the Jeep?” Jared looks over the rim of his cup before taking a large gulp and setting it down. “I wanna see who else we can find in the city. Jensen’s got some friends and I need to know what’s up with Rachel and the kids.”

At Chad’s confused look, Jared explains. “Rachel’s one of the PAs on set…was a PA. She took the dogs with her a couple of days before Jen and I left Vancouver. Was gonna dogsit till I could get here. I have no idea what happened, if she made it or if the dogs are okay. I gotta check on them.” 

“Oh, sure, man. Totally get that. You gotta find Sadie and Harley.” Jared remembers how the two hounds and Chad would wrestle on the floor of his townhouse in Vancouver the couple times he visited Jared. 

Chad chews on his thumbnail again and Jared realizes it’s a new habit he’s picked up since last time they saw each other. Matter of fact, all of his nails appear to be bitten down to the quick with messy, ragged edges.

Finally, Chad nods. “Lemme run a quick errand. Shouldn’t take more than an hour. Then you guys can have it for the rest of the day. But I got rules.” 

Jared quirks his mouth into a curious grin. “You got rules? Since when?” 

Chad looks irritated for a few seconds, but Jared’s not even sure he read that right when he laughs. “Hey, it’s not like there’s just cars all over the place, if you haven’t noticed. You gotta lock it up and put the club on it whenever you’re going to be out of sight of it. And for fuck’s sake, don’t stop in any bad neighborhoods. Someone’ll slit your throats and take it as soon as look at you in some parts of town.” 

Jared’s looking really alarmed at this news when Jensen walks in, running fingers through his wet hair where he’d tried to get rid of his bed head. 

“What?” he asks at Jared’s expression.

“Oh, I was just telling him when you guys take the Jeep out today, you gotta be careful with it and watch your backs.”

Jared’s recovered by now and asks, “So, _what_ exactly are the bad places we’re supposed to avoid now?” While he’s talking to Chad, Jared’s eyes track Jensen’s progress across the kitchen to the coffee pot. 

"Sherman Oaks is still pretty safe; porn industry protects it's own, right?" Chad snickers. "Santa Monica's completely thrashed though. And West LA is sketchy. I don't recommend it, if you're not carrying. Other than that…it kind of shifts. Just…keep your eye out and don't get my fucking ride stolen. Or your asses killed," he adds as an afterthought.

IV

Jared and Jensen studiously avoid discussion of Claudia, the House or her offer. Instead, they work on who they’ll try to see first and which ways they’ll get there, considering the areas Chad’s warned them from. 

Jensen, always more practical, remembers to wash their clothes and by the time Chad’s back, they have a clean set to wear, even if the jeans are still a little damp. 

Jared can almost – almost – believe things are like they used to be when they’re both riding down the boulevard of Chad’s neighborhood, though in the normal run of things, they'd probably have the top down on such a gorgeous day. Chad warned them about that too. Jared reaches and puts his hand atop Jensen’s resting on the gearshift. Jensen’s eyes don’t leave the road but a small, satisfied smile curves his lips and he reaches up with his thumb to stroke Jared’s hand.

They’ve decided to hit Rachel’s first, since a) she lives closest to Chad and b) Jared is about to crawl out of his skin to find out what happened to Sadie and Harley. 

Jared’s heart plummets down into his stomach when they pull up to her building and find a boarded up front door and lots of white and yellow paper flapping in the late morning breeze. The place is obviously abandoned. The tenants deserted or were evicted; doesn’t matter. 

When Jensen reaches over to touch him, Jared just shifts, moving his leg out of range while trying so god damn hard not to _cry_. Fuck. He hears Jensen get out, then walk around into his field of vision, checking out the papers tacked and taped to the glass still left in busted and shot out windows. 

“Jay! Come ‘ere! It’s another bulletin board!” His voice is high-pitched, excited. Jared jumps over the door of the jeep and is beside Jensen in seconds, scanning the scrawled notes decorating the building.

He starts to read, half to himself, half out loud. “Gone to Mexico,” he mumbles, moving quickly down to the signature scrawled at the bottom before moving on to the next one. _headed home_ is all one piece says, not signed at all. _Dana’s gone, no reason to stay. Don’t try to find me._ Jared wonders what took the obviously well-loved Dana. Flu or allergy? 

“Here!” Jensen is bouncing on his toes, reaching out to yank Jared closer to read the note with neatly printed block letters on a sheet from a yellow legal pad. _Jared – Don’t worry. Dogs are safe with me. Catching a ride to my folks place in Utah. Good luck, Rachel._ A Moab, Utah, address follows. No phone number, of course. Why bother when telecommunications has been out for over three months. Jared scans back up to the top. The note’s dated July 10. Almost two months ago. Rachel’d hung on a long time before jumping ship. And the kids are safe. Or were in July. 

Jared takes a deep breath and surprises himself when he exhales a soft sob. He tugs the paper from its pinhead fastening and folds it before sliding it into his back pocket. Jensen’s arm circles his waist and Jared takes comfort from Jensen’s fingers, resting possessively on his hip.

They make their way in silence to their next stop. Steve’s been Jensen’s friend for years. He’s probably the closest thing to family Jensen has in LA. Hopefully, they’ll get some answers. Hopefully, Steve is doing okay. Is still around. 

An hour later they’re knocking on the doors of the tiny bungalows neighboring Steve’s house. Most people won’t even open their doors, just yell for them to get off their property. Get away from their door. 

Steve’s house _looks_ lived in, Jared supposes, if he wasn’t much of a housekeeper and didn’t care if the roaches were taking over his kitchen. Jensen wouldn’t accept that Steve had just disappeared. His house had been locked, yeah. But not boarded up. Not really abandoned, either. Just empty and kinda trashed like nobody’d cleaned up after the last party. 

After covering the whole block, Jared heads back to the Jeep, seeing that Jensen is already there, talking to someone. 

“Hey, no luck,” he reports, but Jensen isn’t paying him any attention. He’s listening intently to the guy standing on the other side of the Jeep – keeping his distance, but willing to relay what little information he has. 

Jensen turns to Jared. “Steve was here last week. But that’s the last time he’s seen him.” Jensen points to the swarthy looking man, no older than twenty, Jared would guess. The man nods, but doesn’t leave them. 

Jared wants to ask more questions, but it seems Jensen’s gotten all the information he’s going to. “Look, man, thanks so much. It’s good to know someone we know was around not long ago.” He looks a little embarrassed and Jensen shrugs and holds up his hands. “Um – I wish we had something to give you – to thank you. But we just hit town and this is our buddy’s car.”

Steve’s friend shrugs back, looks kinda sad and disappointed, but turns to head back down the street. They pass him in the Jeep a minute later when they head back out and Jared feels like he should have been able to offer the guy something. He’s just not used to having _nothing_. 

After a few blocks, Jensen asks him where to next. Jared looks out his window, thinking – pondering their options. It all keeps coming back to just one. 

“Let’s go back to Chad’s,” is all he says and Jensen turns the Jeep around, heading back the way they’d come.

V

Chad’s not home when they get there, but Jared’s got other things on his mind. He marches Jensen to their room and then backs him up until his legs hit the bed and he sits hard. But Jared doesn’t have sex on his mind – or at least not that kind of sex. He takes the chair in the corner of the bedroom, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and pins Jensen with a sharp, penetrating look. 

“You would fuck someone else…,” he sniffs loudly and exhales slow, “…other people. You’d do this for me?” He still doesn’t believe Jensen possibly knows what he’s offering. A ghosting tickle in the back of his throat reminds him what’s at stake. 

Jensen relaxes, like he’s relieved that’s what all this is about. Jared’s not sure what Jen was expecting. “Jay, everything I said this morning? So not a lie. What would that gain me? Like I said -- it’s acting. We’re actors.” 

Jensen gets up and takes the few steps to Jared and kneels beside the chair, putting a hand on each arm, effectively trapping Jared in his seat. “What I’m worried about is you. I _know_ what I can do. I don’t think you quite realize it yet.” One hand drops to Jared’s knee and he massages over Jared’s thigh, letting the slight pressure of his thumb smooth over the rough fabric of Jared’s jeans. “Like I said. I’ll follow your lead. We might have more options…” 

And Jared cuts him off with two fingers to his lips. “No, we don’t. I’m not going to try anymore to convince myself and you that we have more options right now. Everyone we know is gone. I’m starting to think we were way damned luckier than we thought to find Chad still here. And Chad had some contacts and he tried to help.”

When Jensen starts to protest that, Jared shakes his head. “No, he _was_ trying to help. It’s all he had to offer. And it’s all that’s left to us as long as we’re here. So listen.” Jared slides out of the chair, joining Jensen on the floor “Listen. Claudia said it was an “at will” contract. We can walk out anytime we want. So, we do it just for a short while. We do it long enough to save enough for the meds I might need to get us to Texas. Then we leave. We don’t look back. And we forget it ever happened.” 

Jensen’s answer is a soft kiss to Jared’s lips, moving out to the corner of his mouth, then to lick beneath his ear before whispering, “I’m gonna be there with you, baby. Together we can do it.”

Jared turns his head slightly, draws Jensen into a tight embrace for a real kiss. A kiss to try to convey what Jensen means to him. What _they_ mean to him. It’s deep and sloppy and satisfying. Almost.

The low moan coming from Jensen has Jared wanting more than a kiss. “Get on the bed,” he instructs.

“In the middle of the day?” Jared thinks Jensen has never looked so good – so sexy – as he does right this moment with a teasing twinkle in his eyes and his lips parted just enough that Jared can see the pink of his tongue. His answer is simply to growl and manhandle Jensen backwards till they’re both tumbling onto the bed. "What a slut you've become, Mr. Padalecki."

If it wasn’t for the fact they have very limited clothing resources, Jared would just rip the shirt right over Jensen’s head. As it is, the only casualty is a button that pops free and flies across the room when Jared’s shaking fingers won’t cooperate to his satisfaction. 

“If I am, it's 'cause of you," Jared says gruffly. "Want you. Need you, Jen. God, you got no idea…” 

Jensen pauses and raises his head from Jared’s neck, where a nice bruise is already filling with blood beneath the skin. “So fuck me, Jay.” And Jared knows he’s never seen a porn star look more wanton and ready than Jensen does right now. "Come on."

“No.” 

Jensen pulls back sharply, green eyes flicking warily over Jared’s face. Jared realizes he’s been misunderstood by the almost-hurt look in Jensen’s eyes. “No, Jen. I mean I don’t want to just fuck you. Gonna make love to you.”

For about half a minute they stare into each other’s eyes until Jared cracks up laughing into Jensen’s neck. Jensen snickers right along with him, but his hands are busy elsewhere, tugging at Jared’s belt and shoving the shirt off his shoulders before pulling the cotton tee over Jared’s head, leaving his long hair flying every which way. Jared wonders if they'll let him cut it, at the Compound. It's getting out of hand.

“I tell you what. You go on and make slow, sweet love to me. But I’m gonna suck your brains out through your dick first.” Jensen flops down on the bed, pulls Jared over him. “That okay with you, lover boy?”

Jared’s dick thinks that’s just mighty fine and he shucks the rest of his clothes before crawling over Jensen to sprawl on the other side of the bed. And before he can say, _I’m all yours,_ Jensen bends over him, tongue flicking at the pale, soft skin on Jared’s inner thigh. Jared hears Jensen inhale deeply. It's something Jensen does a lot, now that Jared's noticing, and the thought that Jensen likes his smell, wants to smell more, makes Jared's hips hitch upward and his legs spread wider. "Jen…"

"Hush." Jensen's palm soothes against Jared's belly. His lips butterfly over the thick head of Jared's cock, lapping at the thick, clear rush of pre-come that Jared can't control.

It starts out light and playful at first. But by the time Jensen’s cheeks make shallow bowls from sucking on Jared’s cock, eyes closed so that those obscenely long lashes almost brush the freckles under his eyes, Jared is promising to do the most delicious, dirty things to Jensen’s ass as soon as he lets him up. He’s not struggling too hard yet, however. 

Jared almost forgets to stop him—pull Jensen’s pouty, swollen lips off his cock before he blows his wad—but manages to grunt out a warning long enough to make Jensen pause, giving Jared the second he needs to string two words together. 

“Fuck you.” There. That message should be loud and clear. 

Jensen sits up. His lips, chin and nose are wet and shiny with their mingled fluids. Jared just moans and sits up, biting the inside of his cheek to tamp down the orgasm that's way closer than he wants.

“Roll over, baby.” The words are almost a plea and Jensen smiles and reaches out to caress Jared’s face before flipping himself over, shoulders down, ass raised, making it perfectly clear he’s with the program.

Jared's dick wants to protest the loss of Jensen’s slick, hot mouth, but he shuts it up with a quick squeeze to the base and reaches over to the nightstand where the lube is still out from the night before. 

He kinda wants to rethink the whole doggie-style thing because he loves watching Jensen’s face when he’s buried deep inside and they’ve got their rhythm going. But the sight of Jensen’s ass, so perfect, ready and willing… Well. He just can’t be responsible for wanting to get down and dirty with that. 

Jared starts with his mouth. By now, he's learned a great appreciation for rimming. Both receiving and giving. The familiar taste of Jensen explodes on his tongue and he’s lost in a wash of hunger to be as close to Jensen as possible, when he feels fingers scrabbling at his scalp and realizes Jensen is talking to him. 

“…fuck me, Jay. Come on.” And Jared _knows_ he did not just hear Jensen whine to be fucked. “Fuck, feels so good, but want you inside me.”

Jared gives one last, lingering lick to Jensen’s glistening hole before grabbing the lube by Jensen’s shoulder and slicking his fingers in a now familiar ritual. 

Jensen's never asked Jared to let him fuck him. Truthfully, Jared’s not sure he’s ready for that step yet, even with everything between them. But this… Just the idea. The concept that Jensen is his and he can do this whenever he wants still ranks right up at the top of life’s great mysteries for Jared. 

Not bothering with the usual preliminaries, Jared starts off with two fingers. They slide into Jensen so easy, like puzzle pieces falling into place. And when he curls them up at the right spot, Jensen’s guttural moans echo through the entire house. Jared watches the muscles flex and roll under lightly furred thighs. 

“’m ready, Jay. Please.” And Jared is reminded that there isn’t a thing Jensen would ask of him that he would not do or die trying.

Jared leans in to kiss Jensen’s firm, perfect cheek, then lightly moves his lips across lower back as he slowly slides in another finger, feeling Jensen’s muscles loosen around him. Jensen's moan is pleading, desperate. Between his spread thighs, his cock is so red, hard as steel. 

Jared lubes his cock, left-hand awkward, in time with his thrusts into Jensen. When he slides in, the slick sucking sound of Jensen pulling him in—pulling him home—almost makes Jared come on the spot. "Jensen," he whispers instead, struggling to keep it even, to make it good. He pulls out except for a final inch and looks down where they are joined, blown away by the wash of love and pure need he feels for this man.

 _Mine._

Jensen’s ass wiggles and shifts just enough to swallow Jared back in. Really, Jared can’t be responsible for the way his fingers dig into Jensen’s sweaty hips. He feels the firm muscles give under his touch and he grips the best he can while rocking his hips in and out, backward and forward, never able to take his eyes off the juncture of their bodies. 

When Jensen reaches beneath himself to take cock in hand, Jared finally closes his eyes and succumbs to the pull of climax that he’s been fighting off forever, it seems. 

“Come for me, baby,” he demands of Jensen and just like that Jensen’s arm stutters and Jared bites hard on his lower lip at the slapping sounds of Jensen’s hand on himself. 

“Aw, yeah… Oh, god.” It’s words Jared’s heard many times from the girls he’s fucked, but never has he felt so proud to hear them as when Jensen groans and twitches through his orgasm, milking Jared deep, so deep. 

With a final slam to the sweet spot, Jared’s breath catches. He marks his own climax with nail marks carved into Jensen’s sides. “Fuck, fuck…oh, fuck!” he grunts before he stills over Jensen, his chest to Jensen’s sweat dappled back. When he leans in to kiss Jensen’s neck, licking at the rivulets of perspiration pooling in the crease of his collarbone, Jared whispers, “Together. We do this together.”

Fifteen minutes later, they finally manage to separate and collapse next to each other, panting and still buzzed from the sex. The front door opens and slams, signaling Chad’s return. Jared opens one eye. 

The back of Jensen’s hand roams aimlessly across Jared's belly, up his chest, around a nipple, then back down. His sensation of utter fulfillment is broken only by the reminder that they're not alone anymore. They’re in a world where the idea of control over one’s own life has been swiped away by a few molecules of deadly virus and dirt.

Jared sits up, trying to muster the energy to get up and get cleaned before Chad yells something rude down the hall. Not that he _really_ cares, but he'd like to keep the peace between Jen and Chad in these last few hours that they're guests here. He looks down at Jensen who is smiling up at him lazily and can’t help but answer with one of his own, but he feels his mouth is twisted wrong for it to be quite real.

“So, we doing this?” he asks Jensen.

“Yeah.” Jensen’s response is barely a whisper, then louder, “Yeah. Let’s do this thing.”


	10. Chapter 10

I

It’s barely light outside, but Jared’s been awake for a good half-hour. He can already smell coffee, so he knows Chad is up as well and wonders when that boy became an early riser. 

Jensen's still sleeping, giving Jared the chance to really look at him unobserved and without comment. For someone as gorgeous as he is, Jensen gets weird about his looks, about being looked at. Jensen looks even younger when he sleeps, freckles dark and boyish. His eyes look almost bruised with fatigue, though, and Jared’s pretty sure the crow’s feet at the corners—the ones he always thought were so cute—are deeper. 

So tired. Jensen looks so goddamn tired. They both are. The sojourn out in the city yesterday reminds him just how lucky they’ve been to get this far. To still be alive, even. They could have died so many times on the road. They could have found no one left alive to take them in, let alone someone as…advantageously positioned to help them as Chad. What if they were the ones living in a tent in the park or scavenging for rotten meat or dog flesh just to have something to eat? 

Jared realizes he's an optimist. Or, as his father called him, naïve. But he chooses to believe there’s a silver lining in every situation. And it's hard, but Jared’s still trying to find one, even now. 

They need to stop. Need time to rest and regroup. They can't keep relying on their luck to see them through. Fate has offered them the perfect opportunity to not only do just that, but save up enough to stockpile some meds for Jared’s allergies. Given everything else he’s seen happening, Jared really doesn’t think this would be possible anywhere else. 

_It’s only temporary_ , he reminds himself. _Just for a little while._

Jared climbs out of bed and pulls on his boxers to pad barefoot to the kitchen, scratching his belly lazily. "Hey, yo, Chad—" He’s already halfway into asking Chad if he can drive them to The Compound in a little bit when he realizes something isn’t right. 

"Chad?" 

He's still confused about how he and Chad stand. It's one thing to know your best friend is kind of an asshole. It's just a little bit different to know he's profiting from peddling your ass to a whorehouse. But they've got years of friendship between them and for as hurt and puzzled as he feels, Jared's not the kind of man that can ignore that. 

He comes up behind his friend as Chad raises his head from his crossed arms on the counter. "Chad, what’s wrong?"

"Nuthin'," Chad's reply is automatic, if a little choked. When Chad turns around, Jared can tell that he either slept very little or not at all. His eyes look red, suspiciously watery. 

After a deep sniff and sleeved arm wiped across his mouth and nose, Chad brushes past Jared and makes himself busy with a coffee cup. "Nothin’, JT," he says again, like Jared contradicted him. "Just couldn't sleep with you two fucking your brains out back there."

It's a lie and they both know it. After Chad came back to the house, he and Jensen had been too tired to go at it again. But Chad's never let the truth get in the way of a good snark. Jared changes tack.

"Something happen? Is it Kenzie?" At the mention of his wife’s name, Chad’s shoulders tense and his blue gaze pierces Jared through and through.

"Back off, Jared. I can take care of me and mine."

Jared's mouth feels sour with more than morning breath. So this is the brand new world. "Yeah, man. Okay. Whatever." He turns around and starts trudging back to the guest room to wake up Jensen. He thinks they've just overstayed their welcome.

II

Jared suggests they shower together, as their usual, "to save water", but Jensen begs off. 

"Yeah, okay," Jared says. He looks like a kicked puppy, but Jensen can't do it. He just… 

"I just need like…five minutes, man. Swear."

Jared nods and starts rummaging through their luggage. "Don't use all the hot water, asshole."

Jensen grins and flicks him in the ass with his towel, but his smile fades fast once he's closed the bathroom door behind him. He turns on the water and then sits on the toilet, running the towel through his hands.

Today he is going to let Chad drive them to La Hacienda. He is going to walk into that den of iniquity and he is going to sign a contract to become a whore. Not a whore like his grandma sometimes kids him, with the acting, but an actual, honest-to…goodness, whore. 

It's not like it's a completely foreign concept; he's had his share of casting couch close calls, heard stories from those that actually went through with it. And towards the end, right before the cancellation but after everything blew up, things had felt a bit like that on _Dark Angel_.

But it's not the same.

 _It's like acting,_ he said to Jared. _I can do that._

But the truth is that he doesn't know if he really can. He hasn't always been the best man he could, the best Christian. He's fucked up and fucked around and done things he was less than proud of. 

But he never whored himself. Never, not once.

There's a pounding on the door. Jensen jumps up like he's burned and darts over to the shower, jumping into the stall. "Yeah?"

Jared opens the door and pokes his head through. "You seen my inhaler? I can't find it."

Jensen shakes his head. "Nah. Maybe Chad took it back? It is a 'valuable commodity' after all." He means it mostly as a joke, but something about the face Jared makes shows him that it wasn't taken that way. "Ask him."

"Nah." Jared shrugs, too careless. "I'll just work something out with Claudia when we get to the Compound. That's why we're going in the first place, right?"

"Right," Jensen agrees uncertainly, unsure what exactly he's agreeing to.

"Right," Jared echoes a second time and ducks back out before Jensen can say anything else. 

The water's already only lukewarm; Jensen lathers up fast.

_God, I love him. I love him so much. Help me. Help me do this, help me be strong enough. Forgive me… Forgive me for what I'm about to do. Because right now, I don't see another way._

III

It’s noon before Chad gets them to La Hacienda and today they’re waved right through. Chad turns the Jeep down toward what Jared has dubbed "the servant’s entrance."

This time when the air-splitting crack of a gunshot echoes around them, neither Jared nor Jensen jump. 

‘Sparky’ stops them with the golf cart parked sideways across the path. Jared's never seen one used as size compensation, but given the way the guard seems to be attached to it, he’s pretty sure that’s what it is.

"You just love to make me walk, don’t you Gordon?" Chad sneers and motions them to follow. 

"It is my one true joy in life, Chad," the guard answers expressionlessly.

Jared thinks he’ll just keep referring to him as ‘Sparky’.

At the side entrance where they met Claudia the day before, another guard is stationed and opens the door for them. The kitchen isn’t nearly as loud and clattering as it had been with a party going on, but there are still several people dressed in chef’s jackets busy at their respective stations.

Chad stops suddenly, causing Jared to bump into his back and Jensen to almost trip over Jared before realizing they’ve walked in on a dressing down of some kind by Claudia. 

"…and since I know you know better, in addition to the cost of the beverages being taken out of your portfolio, you can take a couple extra clients at the party Saturday night, Gary." 

Jared knows that face. The light brown skin that makes the pale green eyes that much more striking, startling. Who could forget once they’ve seen him on _CSI_. Gary. Yeah, Gary something. Gah; Jared's horrible at names. It's a fault that's gotten him into trouble—or at least majorly embarrassed—on more than one occasion. 

So, yeah, he knows the guy. And right now that face is exhibiting marked signs of resentment and rebellion. Claudia doesn’t seem to be fazed by either and Jared has a feeling she can stand up to just about anyone’s attitude. _And_ give it back in spades. 

"Am I clear _this time_?" Claudia prompts the slouching Gary Something-or-Other slumped at the table. Jared sees the remains of a sandwich and two empty beer bottles. Must be the beer he isn’t supposed to have. Or at least not _that_ beer.

"Yeah. Sure." The muttered words are laced with barely-concealed insolence, but his eyes are cast down and he’s fiddling nervously with the peeling label on one of the bottles. 

"Good. I’ll expect to see you shortly after noon then. Our special guests will be here early."

With that, Claudia completely dismisses Gary and turns to her new visitors. 

"Well, I have to say, I didn’t expect to see you two back so soon. Oh Chad, wait a moment before you leave. I have a letter I’d like delivered sometime today. Preferably before 3 p.m." 

Claudia pulls a small brown envelope out of her planner and hands it to Chad, who's getting ready to leave Jared and Jensen to their business, as Jared requested. He's pretty sure Jensen won’t appreciate having to take this woman’s offer in front of Chad.

"Sure thing, Claude," Chad grins, takes the envelope and waves 'bye' to Jared. Jared waves back and wonders if this is it, the end of him and Chad. It hurts, sharp and pointed, but it's lost in the rest of his anxiety about this day, this choice. Jared puts his hand on the back of Jensen's neck and squeezes. It's mostly for him, but Jensen turns his head and gives Jared a taut little smile and Jared thinks maybe it's for both of them. 

Claudia waits until Chad is gone and the door is secured before addressing Jensen. "Do I take it this means you have come to a decision?"

Before Jensen can answer—and he's got that floundering look, like he's having a hard time forming the words anyway—Jared speaks up. "Uh. Yeah. We have and we’d like to talk to you… In private?" Jared glances at Gary Whatsisname, who watches them with mild interest from his seat at the table, but casts his eyes back down when Jared looks his way. 

"Very good. Shall we adjourn to my office?" It is, of course, a rhetorical question and Jensen and Jared find themselves following Claudia down the hallway again.

She isn’t in party clothes today, although Jared can't exactly call what she _is_ wearing daywear; a halter-topped black jumpsuit, decorated simply with a gold pin—some kind of arty bird—over one breast. She’s had a manicure since yesterday; her nails at both hands and feet are fresh, blood red today.

The jumpsuit emphasizes the sweet womanly swing of her hips. On the one hand, Jared has no doubt that it's deliberate; everything about Claudia is. On the other, she seems to come by her sensuousness naturally, a grown-up woman rather than an overly made-up little girl. It's been months since he's thought of Sandy at all—since the break-up, anyway—but he wonders if that was part of the problem. He realizes belatedly she's pointing out the various rooms as they pass several closed doors and tries to pay closer attention. 

"The clinic is in the back of the house. There is an outside entrance, as well, but you can access it from that hallway there, last door on the right. Someone will be in the clinic twenty-four hours a day, should you have an attack." She looks at Jared and he nods, to show he's following along. "This wing is mostly administrative and you shouldn't see any clients back here, or in the employee dorms. If you do, report it to Michelle and she'll handle it. And them. Remember, she gets paid to be a bitch. You do not."

When they’re at her office door, Claudia stops and turns to face them. "Just a moment," she says. "Please go in and have a seat. I must make some…arrangements and will be right back." Jared's not reassured by her slight hesitation and apparently, neither is Jensen, as he looks questioningly at her, then back to Jared, but Claudia’s already turned to continue down the hall, speaking into the headset which seems to be a permanent part of her.

"Well?" Jared asks Jensen who’s in front of him at the door. 

Jensen opens it and Jared somehow feels they are walking into the lion’s den.

IV

Claudia returns before Jared’s has a chance to do more than catch a couple of titles from the bookshelf behind her desk. She settles herself comfortably behind her desk, all business. Jared's sweating from nerves and realizes he hasn’t felt like this since the casting call he’d answered for _Supernatural_. 

Long, dark nails tap on the arms of her chair. Jared looks at Jensen, allowing him to take the lead. He has no idea what to say to the woman. Where to begin. 

Jensen clears his throat and crosses an ankle over one knee, settling in for business. For all Jensen's shyness, Jared knows Jensen's better at this part than he is. 

"Claudia– Ms. Black," Jensen begins, but bright red patches are already spreading across his cheeks. Before he can continue, she raises a long finger and this time Jared feels her smile might almost be real. 

"You may call me Claudia in private. Everyone does. Within hearing of clients or in public, I will always be addressed as Mistress Black." The ironic twist of her lips tells Jared the title isn’t exactly her idea. 

Jensen nods and Jared reads relief on his face. "Claudia. We’ve uh… talked it over. Discussed our options and…" 

Jared catches Jensen’s attention, trying to reassure him—let him know he’s right here with him—but meeting Jared’s eyes seems to have turned Jensen mute and Jared sees the weird panicky look start far back in Jensen's bright eyes. 

His turn. Jared clears his throat, trying to will away the nervous tickle in the deep of his throat. "And we’ve decided to accept your offer for a short period of time." 

Claudia nods, as if unsurprised and Jared feels a heat flush the back of his neck and the tips of his ears. "You’ve read the contract?" she asks. 

Jared nods. "Yeah. More than a couple times. But you're right; I don't think we're going to find a better offer for the time being."

"All right." Her acceptance of their choice fills the silent room. Claudia returns her attention to Jensen. "You agree with this? You're also willing to go under contract and abide by the rules of the House?" 

Jensen adds his nod to Jared’s. "Yeah, we’re willing to abide by the _rules_. We have a couple stipulations of our own, though." 

Claudia blinks. "You do?" Her tone is unreadable; could be amusement, could be disbelief. Jared can't tell.

"Jared and I…" Jensen glances at Jared and Jared again sees that strangely delicate uncertainty that overtakes Jensen any time this comes up. Jared nods and nudges Jensen's foot with his own, where Claudia can't see. "We're together. We want to room together."

Again, that same unsurprised nod from Claudia. "Of course. There's nothing in the contract or the House rules that prohibits such a thing. That should be no problem. Anything else?"

Jared picks at the threads hanging from what used to be the hem of his jeans. "I’d uh… would it be okay if I got a haircut?" His words come out soft—almost whispered. It seems like such a petty thing.

Claudia laughs, bright and unrestrained. "Of course. Grooming is part of the House perks. You'll both be re-outfitted with a selection of clothing and toiletries, as well."

She stands and extends her hand out between the boys, letting them decide who goes first. "Jared. Jensen. It will be a pleasure doing business, I’m sure. And I'll do what I can to see that you do not regret your decision. We are not in the business of slavery or coercion at La Hacienda."

Jared reaches across the short distance with his long arms and clasps her hand warmly. "Thank you, Claudia." He laughs uncomfortably, shaking his head. It feels so strange to thank her for _allowing them_ to whore themselves. "I certainly never pictured myself doing anything…like this." 

"Do you think any of us did?" Claudia asks perceptively, tilting her head at him. "That doesn't mean it's the wrong choice."

Claudia shakes Jensen’s hand next and he smiles shyly at her. When he lets go her look takes them both in. "I would suggest you do not follow your friend’s Chad lead in regards to House protocol, however." 

Jared waits for her to elaborate, but she seems to be finished with that bit of business.

Both men stand and shuffle a little awkwardly, not sure what to do next, but Claudia apparently has it all under control. Reseating herself and motioning for them to do the same, she pulls out two fresh contracts and slides them across the desk. 

"I need your initials on every page where tabbed and your signature and the date on the last page in the appropriate spaces." It barely takes a minute and soon their papers are signed by all parties and she’s filling out a form and handing it to Jensen.

"You’re both required to take a complete physical, including allergy testing," she looks pointedly at Jared, "to make sure you're both clean and see what you’re allergic to. Final execution of the contract is contingent on a clean bill of health—" she raises a finger as Jensen opens his mouth to protest, "barring allergies. Once we’re done here, take this to the House Clinic. They’ll know what to do. Now, how about a tour of your new home?"

V

Jared examines the decorations and furnishings of the various rooms Claudia leads them through, torn between deja-vu and a thicker sense of complete unreality. The hall they're in seems to run the length of the house, with a heavy double-door separating the front of the house from the back. Once they enter the front area, Jared notices a marked change in just the way the air feels. 

Claudia refers to the rooms she leads them through as salons. Each one seems to have a different "feel," like movie sets; some as elaborate as Chinese pagodas and African safari lodges, some just sleek and modern or old-fashioned and sort of noir. What once must have been a ballroom has been turned into a sort of miniature nightclub. It's sort of dizzying, after all the ugliness at the end of their stay in Canada and the months on the road. When Jared looks at Jensen, Jensen looks like Jared feels—kind of shell-shocked. 

"This is the main reception area," Claudia explains as they walk into a large open area. Jared spots the elaborate front doors they haven't been allowed to use yet, and probably never will. There is a solid oak podium just to the right of the door, like a restaurant hostess would use to check reservations and seating. A banker's green glass lamp perches at the top.

"It's very... professional," is all he can really come up with. Claudia smiles as if he just paid her the highest compliment.

"We pride ourselves on that, exactly, Jared. Thank you for noticing."

Jensen stands a little away from them, sweeping his hand over the back of a butter-soft leather sofa. It is flanked by overstuffed chairs surrounding a small table with several pieces of swirling art glass decorating its surface. "Hard to believe this type of place exists in the world today," he mutters, almost to himself.

Claudia walks over and lays a hand possessively on the couch. "I doubt there is a place in this country anymore that can claim the amenities and hospitality offered at La Hacienda. You really don't know how lucky you two are."

Jared watches Jensen's mouth twist as they continue following her up the richly carpeted stairs. The walls up to the second and third floors are a gallery of movie and television promotional shots; with a sick twist in his stomach, Jared realizes the pictures are there to exhibit the Compound's _offerings_. 

He catalogs the ones they pass for later contemplation. An _Into the Blue_ ad provides an excellent view of a ripped Paul Walker wearing his baggy, but nonetheless enticing surf shorts. A dark, eerie background frames Taylor Kitsch in his role in _The Covenant_. So far he's seen only the men of La Hacienda with the exception of Charisma. He's not even sure if she's fit to work based on what he saw yesterday.

But apparently the decorators were saving the best for last, because at the second floor landing are four more framed posters, artfully hung at various heights. Katie Holmes, _Batman Begins_ ; Tricia Helfer wearing her slinky halter in _Battlestar Galactica_ ; Eliza Dushku, _The Alphabet Killer_ and finally—Jared glances quickly at Jensen to see if he notices—Allison Mack in a _Smallville_ promo for what must have been the last season of Tom's show.

Jensen does notice. The expression on his face, freckles standing out like ink, gives Jared the overpowering need to touch him, reassure him, but he knows Jensen won't want that kind of attention right now, especially in front of Claudia. It feels like forever since they've been alone.

"I see you've noticed our Rogue's Gallery, so to speak," Claudia says, waiting for them to follow her down the second floor hallway.

"Yeah. I guess we're not the only really _lucky_ ones," Jared says bitterly. 

Claudia ignores the tone and continues with her spiel. "This floor is half client rooms, half private quarters. All clients will be entertained in these specially appointed rooms, unless specifically instructed otherwise. Clients are not permitted in the private domain. This is both for our protection and yours; since you reside on the same premises on which you work, we feel it helps to keep your professional and private lives separate."

God, this is so surreal. Jared reaches out for Jensen's hand, not caring how it looks or whether Jensen is embarrassed by the show of affection, but Jensen's warm fingers curling into his lets Jared know he feels the same way.

"We won't bother with the third floor right now. That is mostly where the help lives. Kitchen staff, gardeners, housekeeping," Claudia waves a hand and rambles on but Jared is already wondering where their room is.

"I've instructed Gina to prepare the double at the end of the hall for you," Claudia says, when Jared asks. "It has a small sitting area, bedroom and full en suite bath."

Jared takes a deep, relieved breath and feels Jensen do the same beside him. It's not that he expects Claudia to renege—not so soon, anyway—but it's a concrete sign. They won't be separated. And at least if they're together, he thinks he can do this.

When they get back to the first floor, Jared’s about to bring up his haircut again when Claudia’s demeanor takes a marked shift. "Now. We might as well get to work. Before we waste either of our time further, the first order of business is to evaluate each of you. Determine where your strengths – and your weaknesses – are and that will help us pair you with the most appropriate clients."

God, it sounded so…clinical. Jared had to get his head wrapped around the fact that this was all strictly business. 

"If it helps, you might want to consider this next part an audition." 

Claudia leads them back out into the hallway, going further into the house. Jared figures they’re going back to her office, but Claudia keeps going, her heels clicking lightly on the wood floor, stopping at a room they haven’t seen yet. She opens the door to a surprisingly large room. Inside, the dimmer switch is turned down to a mellow gold, softening the edges and making it hard to see everything in the farthest corners. 

Jared follows behind her, blinking as his vision adjusts to the low, intimate lighting. He only has a few seconds to take in their new surroundings before he hears Jensen’s breath catch alarmingly. 

"Jen?" He follows Jensen’s glare to a man standing in the center of the room, dressed in khaki slacks and a light blue golf shirt. He looked vaguely familiar and Jared gets the feeling he was probably another famous face in LA, as most of the employees seem to be. 

"Michael." Jensen’s voice comes out choked. Jared places a hand at his back and moves in closer.

"You know him?" Jared keeps his voice low, not that it matters. 

"Michael, please allow me to introduce you to your two newest charges. Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles. Jensen, I think you, at least, know Michael."

Of course, Jared remembers now. Michael Weatherly. _Dark Angel_. He unabashedly watched all the episodes that featured Jensen to get an idea of his acting style. This guy had gone on to another show that he was pretty sure had been canceled the year before. _NCIS_. He hadn’t seen or heard anything about Weatherly since. 

The beginnings of relief suffuses Jared, but it's quickly dashed when he catches sight of the expression on Jensen’s face. Jensen's usual neutral 'public face' is twisted, his eyes dark.

"It's been a while, Jenny," Michael says, eyeing Jensen with a frank appreciation that Jared, for one, doesn't appreciate at all. Michael steps closer to Jensen, raises his hand to brush his thumb roughly over Jensen's mouth and Jared's hard pressed not to punch the guy just on general principle. "I forgot how…pretty you are."

Jensen turns his face aside. "Don't."

"You going to act like that with your clients?" 

Jared watches the line of Jensen's back tighten into a single knotted line and then pretend to relax. "No. Come on, let's go."

VI

Michael. 

Michael, here. Jensen was already feeling like today was some kind of creepily vivid bad dream; now he feels convinced. 

_This can't be happening,_ he thinks. _Even you would not be so cruel as this, God, would you? Please tell me this isn't happening._

Except he knows damn well it is. Because it's too cruel to be anything but stark reality.

"No, I don't think so," Michael answers, shaking his head and looking past Jensen to Jared. He gives Jared the same appraising up-down that he gave Jensen a moment before, stripping Jared naked with his eyes and judging what he sees. Jensen remembers what it feels like to be the object of that look and he resents it on Jared's behalf. "I think I want to try out your friend here first." His pale eyes return to Jensen and his smile is taut, cold. "After all, I already know how good a ride you are, don't I, sweetheart?"

"Don't call him that." Jensen feels Jared press up against his back and for a moment, he feels crushed, trapped, stuck in place like a fly dying in amber. Before the feeling can overwhelm him, he turns around, puts his hands on Jared's shoulders and pushes his friend back.

"Jay." Jared's not looking at him, still glaring at Michael. Claudia's sitting off to the side, for all intents and purposes looking like she's studying her manicure though Jensen's not counting on that for one second. The message is clear. This is theirs to work out. _"Jared."_

Finally Jared's hazel eyes storm into Jensen's, more brown than green. "It's okay," Jensen tells him.

Jared's jaw squares. "Naw, Jen, it's not okay, he…"

"He and I got a history," Jensen says, breathless with how easy and hard that is to say. "I got it. I can handle it." Jared's nostrils flare wide but Jensen has enough faith in Jared to turn his back on him, come back around to face Michael again.

Michael. Again.

"Jared doesn't bottom," Jensen says firmly, his stomach twisting unpleasantly. "He's never done it, he's not ready." He looks straight into Michael's eyes and then turns to look at Claudia.

"Whereas your ass is still the superhighway for the stars, huh, Jenny?" Michael says and the floor creaks ominously as Jared's weight shifts. Jensen wants to reach behind him but he won't. Not in front of Michael. 

_I can do this,_ he thinks, hoping it's true. _It's just **acting** , I can do this._

And then, _Please God. Give me the strength to do this._

"Good enough to get you there," he says and goes to his knees. Michael's hand goes into his hair, heavy, horrifyingly familiar. 

_God, Jenny; you're like the best girl I never had. Shoulda had you sucking my cock a long time ago._

Michael's not wearing a belt; Jensen unsnaps the button and draws down the zipper, conscious of Claudia and Michael; even more conscious of Jared watching him do this. The whine of metal seems very loud. 

Michael isn't wearing underwear—of course not—and the smell of him, male, lightly sweaty, clean but still musky, is again too familiar, making Jensen's stomach bubble and cramp. He doesn't even want to think about what'll happen if he throws up. He can't throw up. He's not going to throw up.

At the touch of Jensen's fingers at the base of his cock, Michael's stance automatically widens, giving Jensen access. Jensen tugs Michael free gently—gentler than he'd like—and licks his lips in a combination of nervousness and pre-suck lubrication.

"Go on," Michael says, fingers urging Jensen's head. His tone is soft, but the edge of command in it is still crystal clear. Jensen hates that there's still a part of him that responds to it, to the tug of Michael's hand in his hair.

Jensen takes a breath and then lets his tongue dab out, circling the thick crown of Michael's cock. The weight and taste of Michael is familiar, but mostly strange; Jensen's only used to Jared now. Michael sighs, soft enough that Jensen doubts anyone can hear it but the two of them. In Jensen's hand, in his mouth, Michael hardens and lengthens; the salt-bitter taste of him gets stronger, rolling over Jensen's tongue as Michael pushes deeper.

"Ah…fuck, Jenny. I forgot how good you are at this." Michael sighs again, louder. Jensen opens his eyes and looks up the length of Michael's body. Michael's not looking at him, even though his fingers still work rhythmically in Jensen's hair. Michael's looking at Jared. Straight at Jared.

The taste of Michael turns even more bitter with the force of Jensen's anger, this old, pent up pain and humiliation and broken, fucked-upness, all at Michael's hands. It's a conscious effort to relax his lips, his jaw, to not bite down until he severs flesh and tastes blood. 

Instead, he closes his eyes again and hardens his focus. He's good at this and he still remembers all the little tricks he used on Michael, way back when. Whatever had been between them, whatever Michael had felt, there hadn't been much he'd liked better than Jensen on his knees, Jensen on his cock.

Michael's next moan is louder, less controlled. Jensen smiles spitefully around Michael's shaft, tongue rubbing hard as he sucks. Michael's hips thrust and pull to the rhythm of Jensen's mouth and Jensen knows…he's got him. The fingers in his hair tighten painfully, but Jensen ignores them.

"Stop." The word is guttural, rasped out from deep in Michael's throat. The blurt of pre-come from his cock is almost steady; when Jensen reaches to cup Michael's balls, they're tight, sensitive, ready to blow. "Stop it."

Jensen hums and works Michael harder, the thick slide of his mouth across damp skin like white noise. 

"Goddamn it, _stop_!" Michael grits, but Jensen lets his teeth graze _just so_ across the spongy-hard ridge of Michael's cock and it's all over; Michael groans and bucks and comes in strong, bitter spurts over Jensen's tongue.

Jensen milks him, sucking Michael dry, licking him soft, until Michael pushes him hard, away. Jensen grins at him, milky with come, and then spits to the side, deliberate.

"Fucker," Michael swears, tugging at his clothes. "You did that on purpose."

Jensen pantomimes a kiss and Michael takes a threatening step towards him. Claudia's voice lashes between them both, reminding them of her presence and their purpose here: 

"Michael, get on the bed."

Jensen looks up and sees the look that crosses Michael's face. It's such a familiar look, even when not directed at him, that he feels his stomach catch with old, unhealed anxiety. "Claudia—"

Jensen turns on his knees, reaches out for Jared. "C'mere, Jay." His jaw and his mouth ache, his lips feel simultaneously rubbed raw and numb but he's acted through worse and he promised Jared. He promised Jared they would get through this. Together.

"I think you forget that you work here just like everybody else, Michael." Claudia's voice is cold and inflexible, the voice of Aeryn Sun and brooking no argument. 

"Jen…" Jared's voice, on the other hand, is barely a thread of sound, hesitant and breaking. Jensen reaches and snags the thighs of Jared's jeans, tugging the other man toward him. 

"Not like everybody else," Michael protests.

"Your patron gave you to us to be retrained as _I_ see fit," Claudia continues, "and if that means I want you to get fucked, then fucked you'll be. Now get on the bed."

Jared's eyes flicker from Claudia to Michael, wide open and helter-skelter. Jensen needs to calm him down, focus him back on Jensen. On them. "Jared," he says softly and instantly, Jared's head turns to look at him. It's such a ready, instantaneous gesture that it makes Jensen's heart lurch hard in his chest. "Look at me." He tangles his fingers in Jared's belt, starts slipping the leather through the buckle. "Just keep looking at me."  
Next to him—them—Michael disrobes the rest of the way in furious, blistering silence but Jensen keeps his attention unwaveringly on Jared.

 _I can't._ Jared's mouth barely moves, but Jensen catches it anyway.

 _You can_ , Jensen mouths back, smoothing the heel of one hand across the arc of Jared's belly while the other tugs at Jared's belt, button and zipper. He eases Jared's pants and underwear down and Jared's cock, half-hard, springs free.

Jared looks ashamed and apologetic, eyebrows crinkling over his nose. _It's okay._ Jensen doesn't mouth the words, but he tries to put them in his eyes, his face as he looks up at Jared. _It's okay, baby. It's okay._

He guides Jared around and then down to the edge of the bed. The mattress is a good one; it hardly whispers when Jared's not-inconsiderable weight hits the edge. Jensen shuffles forward on his knees, urging Jared's knees apart. 

Just as Jensen starts to bend, Jared reaches for his face; one huge palm cups his cheek and pulls Jensen's face back up. Jensen thinks—hopes—that he and Jared are the only ones who notice that Jared's hand is shaking. "It's just like a love scene," Jensen whispers.

Jared shakes his head. "No. It isn't."

"You can pretend it's me," Jensen offers. Jared's hand convulses a little against Jensen's cheek and he knows he's said the wrong thing again.

"No," Jared answers. "I really, really can't."

"Jay—"

Jared bends down and fastens his mouth over Jensen's, pulling the air and the sense out of him. All at once, he remembers-realizes that Jared must taste Michael in his mouth, on his tongue. He tries to pull away, but Jared's hand only curves around Jensen's skull tighter; the fingers of his other hand knot in the shoulder of Jensen's shirt, holding him there as Jared devours every trace of Michael from his mouth. "I'm sorry," Jared whispers when he finally draws back. "I'm so sorry."

Jensen shakes his head, mute.

"As touching as this is, do you think we can get on with it?" Claudia asks, sounding bored.

Jensen's face heats, a frisson that goes down his spine. He disentangles from Jared and leans to press a kiss, hot and open mouthed, into the wiry hairs and smooth-soft skin of Jared's thigh. Jared's fingers rake into Jensen's lengthening hair and Jensen shifts slightly to take Jared's cock down into his throat.

VII

Jared is conscious of Michael next to him on the bed, naked and sullen. It's hard not to be, knowing that—in a few minutes—he's expected to fuck him.

 _Jesus,_ Jared thinks, hit by it all over again. _I'm expected to **fuck him**._

Jensen's hand kneads Jared's thigh and his tongue does…something _really interesting_ , distracting Jared from the frantic hamster-wheel of his thoughts. He wants to stop the hardening of his cock, to remain stubbornly limp so that he really and physically _cannot_ do this but at the same time he knows he needs this, knows that this needs to happen.

Because this is their life now.

He still feels lingering shame about even getting partially aroused at the sight of Jensen sucking Michael. He'd hated it. He hated watching Michael touch Jensen. At all, but especially the way he'd done it. Casual. Uncaring. Like Jensen was just a mouth, a hole and no one—nothing—of consequence.

And yet. Jensen. 

Jensen gets him hot, every time.

Jared tangles his hand in Jensen's hair and focuses completely and solely on Jensen, like this is one of their scenes, though he's pretty sure Sam and Dean never did anything like _this_. He feels Jensen's hair, soft and springy under his fingertips, nearly as long as his own. He listens to the soft, sucking moans Jensen makes around him, nothing like the charged silence with…no. Not thinking about that. 

Jared lets his fingers slip down, tracing the resilient curve of an ear and then forward to where he can feel himself, hard and aching, through the hollow of Jensen's cheek. "You feel so good," Jared whispers, stroking with his thumb against rasping stubble.

Jensen's eyes open and flick up to him, the green jewel toned and brilliant and the dark too deep to fathom; deep in his throat, Jensen hums, a thrill that goes straight up Jared's cock and along his spine.

"Stay with me?" Jared doesn't like the way his voice quavers but Jensen only blinks and nods slightly.

Jared eases Jensen off, shivering at the soft parting licks of Jensen's born-to-sin lips and tongue. He feels so aware of everything; the bobbing hardness of his cock, the dampness of his skin and the slip of the smooth sheets across them, the firm roughness of Jensen's skin against his palm. 

"Come on," Michael says, impatient, and shifts on his knees. "God, Jenny, you finally found someone who's as big a girl as you."

Every muscle in Jared's body tightens and he doesn't realize he's growling before one of Jensen's hands lights on his waist, kneading and the other slips between Jared's legs, stroking his cock. "Don't."

"Michael, you will shut your mouth and open your ass or you will have a rather long and unpleasant conversation with Michelle. Your choice," Claudia chimes in.

Jared takes a breath and when Jensen moves back, he turns around to kneel on the mattress himself. He doesn't know how to evaluate Michael's body—good, bad or indifferent—through the haze of his dislike. He guesses for their purpose here, it's best if he doesn't. 

_Touch him,_ Jared prompts himself and glances at Jensen again. Jensen reseats himself near the headboard and nods slightly. Jared reaches out without looking—acting and basketball are still useful skills, even now—and touches Michael's flank. The skin is warm, resilient, hairier than Jensen's. The muscle is less defined by months of walking, but still strong, and they ripple a little under his palm. Jared wonders if Michael's a little nervous too. 

There's lube and two condoms in the folds of the dark sheets. Jared hadn't thought that far ahead, but he's grateful someone did, because even with the guarantee of the Compound's whores being clean, he really wants that layer of latex between him and anyone not-Jensen. Still holding Jensen's gaze with his own, Jared rips the packet and rolls the condom down over his cock. 

It's not as hard as it was a moment ago, with Jensen's hand on him, but he thinks he can stay hard enough to get this done. If Jensen stays with him. If he watches Jensen and pretends…not that it's Jensen. He's not sure what exactly his mind is doing to let him get around this but he doesn't want to probe it too deeply or too far. Magicians should never reveal their tricks.

Lube on his fingers; he's clumsy and some of it falls onto the sheet. 

"Look at me," Jensen says, low-voiced. "C'mon, baby. Look at me."

He looks at Jensen, lets himself get snared by Jensen's eyes as he shifts on the mattress again and pushes Michael's thighs apart. He coats himself with the lube thickly and then presses a finger—not gentle—into Michael, who curses and twists, tightening around him. Then, deciding that's prep enough, Jared guides himself into Michael.

He's gentler here; he might want to hurt Michael, but wanting and doing are two different things and he was raised better than that. It's different and he feels strange, easing into another man's body. The tightness, the friction, the clutching heat…he doesn't know. It should just be sex, right? He's a guy; he should be able to make this just sex.

Michael inhales sharply and his fingers spasm in the sheets. Inside, Jared feels Michael trying to take him in, trying to force him out, a trembling uncertainty that makes him a little more human, a little more real. His eyes still fixed on Jensen, Jared runs the heel of his hand along Michael's ribs, soothing. "Shhhh."

The angle's wrong. He's not sure how he knows it, but he does, and he presses and pulls and tugs, manhandling Michael's body until it feels a certain _way_ and Michael cries out, sharp and startled.

Satisfaction burns low in Jared's belly and Jensen smiles crookedly at him, which makes him even warmer in his skin as he thrusts again, hard, over that same spot. Michael's hips are a different shape than Jensen's; Jared wonders if it's the bow legs or what. His fingers spider over the soft, veined skin, pulling Michael back again and again onto him. He can't really see, but he knows from the way Michael twists and bites back his noises that he's hard again, dripping pre-come onto the bed.

"Touch yourself," Jared tells him, the basso profundo, growling tones of Evil Sam. He thinks it says something that Michael doesn't even argue, panting, as he reaches under himself to grasp his cock. In front of them, Jensen lets his own hand slip down to cup himself, half hard against the denim of his jeans.

He wasn't hard for Michael. Jared had watched; Jensen hadn't been hard with Michael, not even a little. Jensen is hard—hardening—for him. Jared has to close his eyes then, because it's too much, the flex of Michael around his cock, the demand of his own body, Jensen's smile, Jensen's cock. He can only focus on the rhythm, half-embarrassed by the soft noises forced from his mouth.

It's not bad. He can do this. He can do this.

Michael comes with an unwilling moan, the tight clinging convulsion of his body dragging seductively at Jared. He wants to come. He doesn't want to come.

He pulls out of Michael rougher than he means to, sick and turned on and too body confused to know what to do next.

Michael's groan blends with the squeak of the mattress as Jensen moves to him. Jared opens his eyes to a blur of skin and freckles and hazel-swamp-green before Jensen's mouth is on his and Jensen's hand is between his legs, stripping the condom away. "Jen," he huffs.

"Shhh," Jensen murmurs back, working Jared's cock. His own erection rides against Jared's thigh, firm and comfortable. Familiar. "Shhh."

Jared buries his face in Jensen's shoulder when he comes, when Jensen comes against him. "You were good," Jensen whispers. "It was so good, Jay, you were so good."

VIII

"You can go now, Michael." 

When it's over, Claudia dismisses him with a wave of her hand as if she can actually make him vanish. Jared feels gratified again to see Michael respond to her authoritative tone as quickly as the rest of the people at the Compound. 

Michael is still tucking his shirt back in as he walks out the door, pulling it closed _almost_ too hard to be polite. His last look at Jensen, though, has Jared seeing red again, wanting nothing so much as to pummel the smirk off Michael’s face.

 _He's going to be trouble_ , Jared thinks.

Jared’s buckling his belt when Claudia levels that intense look she always manages before springing something new (and usually unpleasant) on them. He holds his breath and realizes Jensen has closed the gap between them and their shoulders rub lightly while they both wait for the next shoe to drop.

"Well, boys, I think we’ve established that you’re perfectly capable, _almost_ willing—something I expect to find remedied by Saturday—and ready to start work. I have a better idea of who to place you with." She opens her planner that seems to be as much a part of her as the earpiece tucked discreetly over her right ear, flipping through a couple of pages before stopping to read, one finger over her lips. 

"I assume neither of you has any objection to women?" She glances at them and they both shake their heads. "Good. We’ll start off slow, ease you into things a bit. I hope you realize…we're not trying to make your life hell here. We are your employers. And you are a _valued_ employee, not merchandise." 

She glances down at the open book again. "Yes, I think you’ll both be able to handle one guest each Saturday night. It’s a special party to honor some visiting … partners. Jared, you will not be required to," her lips quirk into an amused smile, " _catch_ for any of your clients, until and unless you and I both agree you’re ready."

Jared finds that he can almost return her smile. Almost. He finds the tickle in his throat, the one he’s been fighting—trying to ignore, actually—throughout the day, stops the smile before it can fully form. 

"Saturday morning there will be a staff meeting when I will go over everyone's assignments and answer any questions you may have. Discuss any ongoing issues." Claudia closes the book, tucking it under one arm and heads for the door. 

"Jay, you okay?" Jensen’s voice is right there, worried, close enough that Jared feels his warm breath. 

When he opens his mouth to answer, Jared feels the familiar swelling in his throat. The one that usually triggers his brain into full on panic mode, because he _knows_ what comes next. Jensen’s hands shove him down into the chair where his shirt still lies. 

"It’s an attack," Jensen says needlessly, as if Jared couldn't tell. Jared's hands close tightly around the chair's arms and he concentrates, trying to quell the rising fear, trying to breath through the constriction of his chest and throat. 

Claudia appears on Jared's other side suddenly with a small white plastic box. The red **FIRST AID** on the front almost reduces Jared to tears, if he had any breath left with which to cry. She opens it to reveal, pills, an epipen and two types of inhalers.

"What does he usually use?" she asks brusquely and Jensen reaches over to dump out the contents so he can see the inhaler labels. 

He grabs the Albuterol and Jared’s hand comes up, searching. If at all possible, Jared has learned the medicine seems to work faster if he administers it himself. Probably because just touching the inhaler seems to relax his throat muscles somewhat. 

He pushes the button and takes one last gasp in anticipation of being able to breathe normally. _Hisssssss_

"That’s it, babe. You got it," Jensen is petting his arm and shoulder and Jared knows how much he hates having to just sit by and watch Jared struggling for air. 

To his surprise, he feels Claudia’s hand on his other arm, just squeezing slightly in encouragement before she stands and take a couple of steps back, giving him room.

"How long since your last attack?" she asks in neutral voice.

"Two days. When we got to Chad’s. Tuesday night," Jensen supplies in a fast babble. 

Jared takes another hit off the inhaler, but he's already starting to breathe clearly, almost able to _feel_ the bronchioles unlock and open. He meets Jensen's scared eyes and nods to his silent query. Yes, he’s fine now.

"You had it," he holds up the inhaler, "in this room?" 

Jensen gathers up the contents of the spilled box and lays them in the seat seat next to Jared. Claudia begins to reassemble it. 

"There are allergy remedies in every room of the house," Claudia says, eyes on her task, "including your own. You're not the only employee who suffers from the affliction and some of our clients do, as well. Safety is paramount. You'll be provided with your own inhaler after you've seen the clinic doctor." 

Jared searches the walls and finally sees the small wooden cabinet, almost hidden the way it blends with the dark paneling. It's door hangs open and he can tell there are other things inside it but can’t tell what they are in the dim light.

"Thanks. That's about the fastest I’ve gotten over an attack yet."

Claudia's smile is tight. "We only carry the best."

Jensen turns to Claudia, but his gaze fixes somewhere over her left shoulder as he says, "Thank you, Claudia. Um, well – thanks." 

With its contents restored, Claudia puts the box back in its chest, opens her book and begins scribbling something, most likely a note to have someone restock the items used.

"Just protecting my investment, gentlemen."

Jared touches her wrist, drawing her gaze. "Thank you," he says, quietly heartfelt and the sun lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle in something that's almost a smile.

"I have some things I need to attend to. Feel free to sit a while, gather yourselves. You remember where the clinic is?" She looks satisfied when they both nod. "Excellent. Afterwards, you’re welcome to help yourselves to the staff meals in the kitchen if you’re hungry but the doctor will want to draw blood on an empty stomach to get the most accurate test results. Or you can do what you like. The rest of the afternoon is yours to explore and become familiar with La Hacienda. Once you’re done, ask anyone to call Gina and she will show you to your rooms."

Claudia exits, leaving Jared slumped in the chair with Jensen’s hands circling and kneading his still tense shoulder muscles. "Jensen…"

"Don't say it." Jensen's fingers tighten briefly before he goes back to the simple, repetitive massage. "We're okay. We're all right."

"Yeah." Jared looks around him, knowing he’ll never be able to come back into this _audition hall_ with anything but bad memories.

IX

"So tell me about him," Jared says dully. He looks tired, burnt out, but Jensen doesn't fool himself into thinking that's all that's going on inside. Jensen doesn't know how to read Jared's eyes when they lift up. "About Michael."

Jensen sighs and heaves himself up on the clinic exam table next to Jared. He tries to take it as a good sign that Jared doesn't scoot away, their arms and knees brushing. He hates that he's like this, even after everything. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know." Jared shrugs. "Everything? What is there to know?"

Jensen looks down at his swinging feet, feeling the old dirty scourge of shame and regret. So much of who he is now can be traced back to that time in his life, to Michael and his own young-stupidness. "We were on Dark Angel," he says and then stops, because he's not sure that's where he should start. Or where to start at all, really. "You remember how he and Jessica were engaged, right?"

Jared nods. "Yeah. And people were saying you and Jessica…" He stops.

Jensen scrapes on a crooked smile and spreads his hands. "Well. They were _almost_ right."

"And that was why she was so bitchy at the Teen Choice Awards that year." Jared nods as if he understands and Jensen's chest opens up and uncoils, a tightness he didn't even realize was _there_ until it let go.

"Yeah." Jensen scratches the back of his neck, sheepish. The memory isn't his fondest. "I made the mistake of trying to apologize."

"Ouch."

Jensen laughs. "You have no idea."

They sit for a while and Jared's hand slides slowly from where it rests on the table until his pinky creeps over Jensen's. Like a swear. Like a promise. Jensen breathes. 

"Did you…? Were you guys in love?" Jared's voice is even lower, almost whispered, and then he curses. "God. This sounds so fucking junior high."

Jensen's teeth worries the inside of his lip until he tastes blood, coppery and sudden. He shrugs. "I don't know. Michael…"

_"Don't try to make this about me, Jensen. I'm not like you. You might get off on all this..."_

_"This what? Just say it, Michael. Say the word. Say 'faggot'."_

_"Oh, that would make you happy, wouldn’t it?"_

_"It didn't make me happy any of the other times you said it."_

_"Oh, God, would you stop being such a goddamn **girl**? Jesus, Jensen. Can't we just fuck? Why does this always have to be such a big fucking deal with you?"_

Jensen shakes his head, cold and sick all over again. "I don't know," he says again. "I loved him and he fucked me a lot." He pulls his hand away from Jared, rubs his palms on the thighs of his jeans reflexively.

"Jen."

Jensen shakes his head against the question-command in Jared's voice.

"Jensen," Jared says again, sharper. "I'm not him."

"I know that."

"I'm not him," Jared repeats and puts his hand over Jensen's.

"I know that," Jensen whispers and lets himself lean against Jared's shoulder.

X

Jared just wants this day to be fucking _over_. He’s not stupid enough to ask himself how it can get any worse, but God, it seems like a week since Chad dropped them off at The Compound. Yeah, they can say the House or La Hacienda all they want. It’s a prison to him, even if he is there willingly.

It’s dark outside. All Jared wants to do now is go to their rooms and hold Jensen and pretend this isn't happening, but the smell of roasted meat wafting from the kitchen reminds him they haven’t eaten since breakfast at Chad’s. His stomach is in whole-hearted agreement that it’s past time for a meal.

There are new faces at the cook stations and two more people sitting at the employee’s table, a sturdy wooden country-style piece with eight chairs arranged around it. The two people seated, digging into bowls of stew, aren't familiar. 

"Go on and sit down," someone says; Jared doesn't see who.

Jensen sits on the far end away from the others and Jared takes the chair next to him, knees jostling for space. Neither has any clue what to do, but apparently that isn’t necessary as two bowls and a cutting board topped with bread and butter is put before them. Jared looks up to smile at the petite woman in whites. She smiles back, kind and open. Jared thinks she looks a little like Meghan and both the familiarity and the unsolicited smile ache rottenly. 

"Yo, Kevin."

Jared and another guy look up at the sound of the gravelly female voice. In the doorway, he recognizes Michelle Rodriguez, looking as hot, tough and pissed off as she has in every one of her movies. 

"What?" The guy, Kevin, sounds irritated, but he's already shoving his bowl of stew away and pushing his chair back like he knows what's coming.

"You've got a special request. Go get cleaned up."

Jared looks at Kevin curiously, not sure what 'special request' means and not liking the sound of it much. Under the table, Jensen's hand touches Jared's kneecap and Jared realizes his foot's jittering restlessly. Kevin's mouth tightens a little, but he stands up and follows Michelle into the shadows of the hallway. Nobody comments and Jared's just too fucking burnt out to even ask.

"Tell me we did the right thing." He tears his piece of bread into smaller and smaller pieces, not sure if he even _can_ eat, despite the rumbling of his stomach.

"We did the right thing," Jensen answers and squeezes Jared's knee. Jared wishes he could tell if Jensen was acting or not.

"You really believe that?"

Jensen looks at him sidelong. "I believe in us."

XI

It's late. Jensen thinks he should be surprised that Claudia is still in her office, but he's not. That's why he came here looking for her, right?

The overhead lights are off; Claudia is paging through and writing in her ubiquitous planner by the tired gold light of a table lamp. It's kind to her complexion, but less so to the circles under her eyes. At her elbow, a rocks glass of what looks like whiskey gleams redly. Jensen's mouth waters for it, even though whiskey's not really his drink. 

He doesn't make a noise, but she looks up suddenly, the light flicking silver across her eyes. "Kind of late, don't you think, Jensen?"

"Yeah." He digs one toe on the threshold until she waves him in. He hates this feeling, like going to the principal's office. "I wanted to talk with you. Privately."

Her smile is wry. "It doesn't get much more private than this."

"It's about Jared."

Claudia's smile widens. "Yeah. I thought it might be. Sit down."

"I don’t want him to bottom," Jensen says baldly. "Not for anybody."

Claudia sighs and closes the organizer, folding her hands on the embossed leather. "That could be a problem."

"He's not…" Jensen's hands twist over each other, dry and kind of cold. "He's…"

"You're his first, right?"

Jensen's sigh is shivery and not at all steady. "Yeah? Sorta? It's not like that. He's never... He's not like me."

"Okay," Claudia agrees gently, "but this is a business, Jensen. And as sympathetic as I may feel towards your situation, I have to run this as a business. Not using Jared…" her hand flicks out, illustrative of nothing, "to his full potential is a deficit to this House. And that deficit has to be addressed."

"I can do it." It's not like Jensen wasn't expecting this. It's not like he hasn't thought this out. Inarticulate, not dumb. "I will. I'll do…what I have to do. I just need you to guarantee me that he's not going to get into something he can't handle. He can't handle it, Claudia. He's not…he's not that guy."

Claudia's head tips a little. "I think he'd surprise you," she says, sitting back in her chair and letting her hands fall out of their perfect configuration, "but okay. You pick up the slack for Jared and I'll make sure he…stays on top of things."

Jensen's mouth quirks. "Thanks."

"Don’t thank me." Claudia regards him, fingernails tapping on the arms of her chair. "It's only business, Jensen. You need to remember that."

 _Like I could ever forget._ "Thanks anyway," he says, because his mama raised him right. "Good night."

When he gets back to their room and pulls the sheet back, Jared stirs and slides over without having to be pushed. Jensen slips in next to him, heart beating too fast. For a moment, he thinks Jared's faded back into sleep, but then Jared turns over, wrapping long limbs around him and pulling Jensen back into the heat of his body. The smell of _Jared_ overpowers the stench of the new sheets and the unfamiliar room.

"Where'd you go?" Jared mumbles, barely coherent. His hand slips over Jensen's bare stomach, pressure and heat, comforting and searing at the same time.

"Nowhere," Jensen lies. 

Jared makes a soft, dissatisfied noise and nuzzles into the nape of Jensen's neck. "Missed you," Jared breathes finally, the words dying into a rising snore.

"I'm right here," Jensen says, covering Jared's hand with his own.


End file.
